Skinny Love
by ThereIsNoOtherWay
Summary: When Uther decrees that Morgana must marry, she asks Merlin's help to get rid of her suitors. Mergana fanfic.
1. I Need Your Help

**Disclaimer: I am not affiliated in any way with BBC, Julian Murphy, Johnny Caps, etc (sadly). I do not own the characters in Merlin, I am using them under the fair use and/or transformative works clause of copyright law and receive not profit or material privilege from my use of them.**

Okay, so this fic is meant to be light and happy (fine, happy-ish) because I needed an antidote to all the sad ones I've been writing. Please review! It makes me happy. Quick warning that this chapter is mostly set-up. They get more interesting, I promise.

The lady Morgana is feeling nervous as she saunters down the hall the rooms belonging to the physician, Gaius. This is in itself unusual - fear, yes, even terror are emotions she's familiar with from her dreams; but perfectly normal, run-of-the-mill nerves are an unusual feeling for. _I suppose_ , she reflects, _this is a very unusual situation._

Merlin looks up from a bowl of some type of hot stew as she comes in. Morgana feels the same stomach churning jolt she always does when his bright blue eyes meet hers and she tries hard to smile despite it.

"My lady," Merlin stands up formally. He's not surprised to see her, as she often comes to visit Gaius after a night of broken sleep. He just wishes he didn't feel such childish butterflies every time she entered the room; it did make it so hard to concentrate.

"Um, Gaius got called to a childbirth. I'm not sure when he'll be back, you might need to come again tomorrow," he tells her.

"No, that's alright. I, um, I wanted to speak to you, actually," Morgana runs a nervous finger over the grain in the wooden table.

Merlin's immediate thought is that she has somehow read his mind and is coming to tell him that his exile from Camelot for lusting after a lady of the court begins tomorrow. That, or his execution.

"Um, uh, do you...I mean, sit down. Have some stew, Gaius made lots," he stammers, pulling out a chair for her and taking a clean bowl to the pot, filling it with the still steaming mixture of rabbit meat and gravy.

"Oh. Thank you," being confronted by rabbit stew hadn't really featured in Morgana's plan, but it does smell good. She takes the bowl and sits down, letting the gravy cool before she takes a mouthful.

"Is there something I can help you with, my lady?" Merlin seats himself opposite her and looks at her with concern.

"There is, if you don't mind. You see -" Morgana takes a deep breath and tries to start at the beginning. "The king, in his almighty wisdom, has decided that it's time for me to marry."

 _And you're proposing to me?_ is Merlin's instinctual thought, which he pushes out of his mind with violent haste. "Right," he says.

"Right. He's asked several kings to stay with us next week - five, I believe - and he's issued an ultimatum. I have to choose one of them by the end of their stay. Or he'll choose for me."

"That's a bit harsh on you," Merlin commiserates, forgetting his awkwardness in his sympathy.

"That's what I said, but did he listen? Kings don't. That's why I don't want to marry one, and certainly none of the slimy, ancient men he's picked out for me. It's not really going to be my choice at all anyway - the kings will haggle over me like a choice cut of meat." The anger is evident in Morgana's voice.

"I mean, forgive me if this is a bad suggestion, but I always thought the king would marry you to Arthur?" Merlin asks; it's certainly what Gwen's as much as told him before.

"He seems strangely against the idea; I did suggest it - Gwen's a servant, Arthur's not going to be able to marry her; if he and I married we could produce an heir but generally be free. But Arthur's a romantic, he's convinced he and Gwen will be married. And Uther completely refused. Saving his only son for someone better, maybe?"

"Ah, you wouldn't have wanted Arthur. He'd be a nightmare to live with," Merlin says, finding the silver lining in the king's rejection.

She tilts her head is accession, "True."

"I'm not entirely sure where I come into all this," Merlin prompts, still slightly confused, if partially reassured that there'll be no exile or execution.

Morgana fidgets with her spoon. "Yes. Um, I need to ask you a favour, and it's going to sound a little strange, but I've been thinking about this all day and it's the only way I can think of to get out of this..." She takes a deep breath and forces herself to look into his dizzying eyes.

"I need you to pretend that we're...together. In love. That way, I have a legitimate reason for refusing the kings' advances."

Merlin feels a moment of elation. For her to act as though they're a couple, well, even if they're only 'pretending' it still sounds like heaven. Then reality draws him back down and shows him several flaws in her plan.

"Morgana, sorry, my lady, I really want to help you, it's just..."

"I know," she interrupts quickly, standing up to leave, feeling flustered and disappointed. 'I shouldn't have asked you this, it was inappropriate."

"No, wait. I want to help, I do, it's just I'm concerned that all that's going to happen is that the king will execute me and force you to marry anyway."

She frowns, stilling her movements.

"I wouldn't let him hurt you. I promise. And it was more, that is, if the other kings believe I'm already enamoured of someone they might choose to leave me alone. It might never reach the ears of the king," she's aware that she's pleading a little now. She hopes he doesn't see through her very transparent ploy - although she certainly doesn't want to marry any of the men Uther has in mind, she has to admit to herself that her plan was constructed mostly out of a desire to spend more time with Merlin.

He nods. It's all the reassurance he needs; he's aware it's risky, but he can't stop himself from saying, "Yes, I'll do it. Of course I'll do it."

A smile lights Morgana's face and the nervousness flees her body as she realises her plan has worked. "Thank you. I knew I could count on you."

He smiles back, a wide infectious grin that makes her heart beat faster. "I wouldn't want to see you unhappily married, my lady."

"It had better be Morgana, not my lady. Since we're in love," she jokes.

Merlin flushes at the words 'in love.' "What are friends for, Morgana?"

Morgana nods. She hates that word, 'friends,' it seems to preclude anything more developing between them. _He's a friend. He doesn't want to be anything more than your friend_ , she forces herself to remember.

"Well then Merlin. I'll see you soon," and she is gone.


	2. One Down

**Disclaimer: I am not affiliated in any way with BBC, Julian Murphy, Johnny Caps, etc (sadly). I do not own the characters in Merlin, I am using them under the fair use and/or transformative works clause of copyright law and receive not profit or material privilege from my use of them.**

I hope you like this chapter! Trigger warning for rape threats which is why the rating went up (King Ban to Morgana, not our precious Mergana don't worry). (I know, it was meant to be happy, I don't know what happened).

Five kings arriving in one day. Since the first light of the dawn crept into Camelot, Merlin has been awake, helping the other servants to prepare rooms, move furniture, and stable horses. Unfortunately, even though it's now dark, the day isn't over; it's Merlin's job to serve wine at the welcoming banquet, a task which he greets with limited enthusiasm.

As Merlin stands on the edge of the large hall where the banquet is to be held, stifling a yawn, he reflects that he hasn't heard at all from the lady Morgana since her request several days ago. He wonders bitterly if she has found somebody else to assist her; perhaps she no longer needs his help.

His attention is arrested by the arrival of the woman in question. The loudly chattering banquet hall becomes quiet as Morgana walks regally into the room, escorted by Uther Pendragon, the king. Morgana's dress is long and grey, an odd colour choice, but one that makes her look mysterious and alluring. The layered fabric sweeps the floor and above it she has placed a faded purple shawl which covers her shoulders, clinging about her arms.

Merlin cannot take his eyes off her, but - there's something forced about her manner. Her smile stiff and tired, as though it's been glued there. Merlin thinks how horrible it must be, to feel like little more than an object, a pretty thing to be ogled and stared at. A nice cut of meat, hanging ready for haggling over. He sympathises with her plight, wishing he could bring a real smile to her lips.

"Merlin, once again I must remind you that you are here to do your job. Not to stare at the lady Morgana," Gaius' stern voice breaks into Merlin's reverie. The older man shoves a metal tray crowded with goblets and a flag on of rich, crimson wine. "Here. Walk around the room with this, Kings are always thirsty for alcohol."

Merlin gives Gaius a smile full of affection, then takes the tray, ducks his head and begins to circulate the room.

Morgana looks tiredly out over the room filled with already drunk noblemen. Choosing her clothes for the night's festivities, she had pulled from her wardrobe an old grey day dress, with faded layers that made her look pale and washed out. Above it she had placed one of her oldest shawls, a purple one with worn away parts.

Her maid, Gwen had looked at her in consternation.

"How about your nice new green dress? That's lovely," she'd suggested.

But Morgana had shaken her head. "I don't want to look lovely tonight. I want to be colourless; every time these noble kings think of me, I want them to see a person devoid of life. Pale and ugly."

Gwen tutted. "You could never be ugly, whatever you wore. But I'll dress you in the grey, as you wish."

Now standing on Uther's arm, Morgana is forced to realise that her maid's prediction is true. She looks anything but ugly, if the arrested stares of most of the men and more than a few of the women is anything to judge by. Morgana forces back disgust as Uther whispers something in her ear; it's his fault, all of this. Still she forces a smile onto her lips, a horrid grin kept there through sheer force of will. It doesn't do to offend the king. Not when he has this much power over her life.

Morgana surveys the room, anxiously scanning for Merlin's face; she'll fight back against Uther's ultimatum, but it would be nice to count on Merlin's help. Her prospects never appear quite as bleak when she's with him.

Spotting the familiar red neckerchief on the far side of the room, Morgana excuses herself from Uther's presence and weaves through the graciously parting crowd to reach Merlin. Taking a goblet from his tray, she angles herself away from him, pretending to listen to King Pellinore's happy recounting of a particularly successful hunting trip.

"Don't look at me, just listen. Are you still willing to help me?" she whispers.

"Yes, of course," Merlin's voice is fervent. "What do you need me to do?"

Morgana hasn't really thought that far. "Just keep an eye on me? I'll find you if I need you," she tells him, and glides away smoothly.

As the collection of courtiers sit down to dinner, Morgana sees to her horror that she is to be seated beside King Ban - an odious man whose wandering hands are the stuff of court legends.

Uther notes her pinched face. "Is anything wrong, my dear?" he asks. Smiling innocently, almost as though, thinks Morgana, he doesn't know the pain his plans are causing her; how he's missed this she doesn't know: she feels she's made her displeasure well known.

"Nothing, my lord," she says politely, forcing another smile.

King Ban gives out a belching laugh beside her, then leans in close to her ear as Uther looks away. His breath smells like wine and danger. "'Nothing' has a very different meaning in my kingdom. Perhaps you have similar slang here?" he asks her.

Morgana looks at him, fighting the disgust in her voice as she answers, "No, my lord, I believe we must have a different culture to your kingdom."

He laughs again, his hand sliding up beside her leg. Morgana is grateful for the layers of grey cloth that separate them.

"Please leave me alone," she says, trying to keep her voice too low for Uther to hear her protestations.

"Later on I'd better give you a lesson in our, er, cultural differences. As you're to be my wife," Ban suggests nastily.

Morgana twists her lips, turning to her other side where King Lot is seated. "Does 'leave me alone' also have a different meaning in your kingdom?"

The ordeal is not anywhere near over. Again and again, King Ban's hands find a way to linger on her body. Touching her arms, leaning heavily on her leg as he reaches across her for more food. Underneath the table, his hand skims her crotch. His fingers find a small hole in the fabric of her skirts and Morgana flinches as his cold hands touch her thigh.

"Please don't touch me," she says, eyes sparking fire at him. She looks around the table, anxiously wishing Merlin was somewhere nearby, but she can't see him.

Ban laughs again, leaning in closer, now more than a little drunk. "Come on, my dear," he chuckles cruelly, "don't you have a little smooch for your future husband?"

He stops laughing as chilled wine soaks suddenly through his hair and the back of his tunic. His expletives at the chill are creative and loud. Morgana looks behind him to see Merlin quickly masking a gleeful grin, empty wine jug in his hand.

"I'm so, so sorry, my lord. I am so clumsy," he apologises quickly.

"Tell your fucking servant to get the fuck out of my fucking space," growls Ban, standing and storming away from the table to change.

"Merlin, you idiot." Arthur stands from his place opposite Morgana and rounds the table, grasping Merlin by the ear and dragging him away as the fuss dies down and conversation resumes. "Come back when you've learnt how to use your hands properly," Arthur orders the boy, who casts a quick, concerned glance to Morgana as he is pushed from the room.

'Are you okay?' he mouths at her.

She smiles at him, and nods. _Now I am_ , thinks Morgana.

Merlin is hovering outside the doors to the great hall, reluctant to re-enter, when he sees Morgana burst through them. The evening has gone on, with a now dry King Ban returning even more intent on torturing the lady Morgana.

Her eyes as she pushes the doors aside have panic in them, which calms slightly as she sees Merlin standing there. She grasps at his wrists, pulling him a slight way down the hall.

"Merlin, thank god. Ban's coming after me. Help, Merlin he's going to do something to me, he's been groping me all evening."

"What do you want me to do?" Merlin asks alertly.

"I don't know. Help, I don't know what to do. He's coming!" she says in alarm as they hear the doors swing open.

Merlin's first thought is to hide her face so Ban can't see her. Drawing her into the shadows, he pulls her close to him and lifts her arms around his neck.

"Here, pretend we're just servants overcome in the middle of the banquet." he says in low voice. "You don't have to kiss me, just put your face somewhere close -"

His sentence is broken as Morgana, heart beating fast from adrenaline and the usual electrical jolt of being close to Merlin, places her lips tentatively against his. For a moment, all else is forgotten in the perfection of the contact. Morgana can think of nothing but getting more of this, what she's wanted for so long. She pulls her arms tighter about his neck, dragging his head closer in to hers. She doesn't want this to stop.

"Well, well, well," comes Ban's nasty voice from behind them. They pull apart, Morgana flushed but made brave by Merlin's touch.

"King Ban," she acknowledges.

"Tasting the wares, my lady? Doing what you refused for me?" Ban's voice has all the ugliness of unwashed grime. It is ripe with rot. "Shall I go and tell Uther what his little princess has been getting up to?"

"Please do. I'd be only too happy to return the favour and tell him all about your groping hands," she returns coolly. Checkmate.

Ban grinds his teeth audibly. "When you are my wife behaviour like this would be punished with a public flogging," he hisses.

"How lucky for both of us that I have no intention of ever becoming your wife," Morgana says.

"You have little choice. It is all but agreed. I will chain you to the marriage bed if you disobey me, I will have you flogged if I catch you satisfying your wanton desires with serving boys, I will do what I like with you...my lady," Ban licks his greasy lips, visibly aroused by the image of her chained and flogged.

Merlin makes to move from behind her, but Morgana stops him with a lifted hand. This is a battle she wants to fight herself. Stepping forward, Morgana tips her head to the side, considering. "I'm sure you would. But only if you caught me," she agrees, "I assure you, my lord, that I am very adept at not being caught."

"Then perhaps I would need to chain you until you were broken enough not to try."

"Perhaps. But, my lord, even then, after what you've seen...could you ever really trust me?" her voice hardens. "Does 'I'm already taken' have a different meaning in your kingdom to mine?"

Morgana looks tall and unafraid, torches striking light against her, giving the appearance of a battle hardened face, "You'd always wonder, wouldn't you? Who my thoughts were really with? If I was ever, really broken, or if I was just pretending? Do you think you could trust me?"

Ban hisses, angry at her and her ability to say things that differed from his own desires. "You're a slut."

"A slut who doesn't belong to you," Morgana says in a deadly tone which precludes argument.

"My lady, I am breaking all deals with your guardian. I wouldn't such marry a wanton scarlet woman as you if you were the only woman left on this earth," Ban growls.

"How nice to know we feel the same way about each other," Morgana smiles, knowing she has won.

Ban takes a threatening step towards her. "But before I go there are some things I'd like to do to you. There are ways I could punish a slut like you. I could ensure you wouldn't walk again for weeks." He reaches for her, fingers already gripped tightly enough to bruise her skin through her clothing.

Morgana steps back and says without flinching, "There are things I could do to you, King Ban, that would ensure you wouldn't walk ever again in your life." She looks straight at him, a vicious staring contest that neither is willing to lose: her autonomy hangs, briefly, in the balance. Ban is the first to look away.

"I will have your horses made ready for you to ride home at first light," Morgana notes, a cool triumph in her voice.

Ban turns away, face purple with anger and hands clenched tightly at his sides. "Tomorrow isn't soon enough," he growls, as he storms away from her, down the hall.

Morgana stands still, staring after his retreating back, momentarily unable to move. She feels that his ugliness has infected her. Her victory a hollow one against the memory of his hands on her. She takes a deep breath. But she has won. Oh, how she has won.

Merlin's hand touches her arm gently.

"You were brilliant," he tells her proudly.

She gives him a tired smile. "One down," she says.

Merlin takes her hand and squeezes it shyly. He looks down at her, her brave, exhausted features. The feelings of triumph mixed up with violation that he can hear in her voice. He tells her what she needs to hear.

"We'll get rid of these kings who want to claim you. We'll do it together."


	3. Battle Plans

**Disclaimer: I am not affiliated in any way with BBC, Julian Murphy, Johnny Caps, etc (sadly). I do not own the characters in Merlin, I am using them under the fair use and/or transformative works clause of copyright law and receive not profit or material privilege from my use of them.**

Morgana is perched precariously on the edge of a straw-strewn horse trough watching Merlin muck out the stable. She is trying very hard not to let her eyes longer on the hard curves of his body beneath his shirt and breeches, the way his arms move as he teases out the old straw.

"So remind me, who's left to get rid of?" he asks, making her jump. She feels her heart speed up, as though he might have heard her thoughts.

"Uh, King Lot, King Pellinore, King Cenred and King Olaf," she says, counting them off on her fingers. She sighs, "We really should be writing this down. We'll forget what we've said."

Merlin nods, stretching his aching back. "Ten minutes and I'll be finished here."

Morgana slips off the trough, dropping to the ground. "Shall we make it five? Give me a rake," she reaches for one of the spares leaning on the wall behind Merlin.

Merlin looks mildly shocked, "You can't do that. Arthur would kill me. Besides, you're not really dressed for it," he argues, looking down her pretty blue dress and high heeled shoes.

Morgana feels a shiver roll through her as his eyes flick over her body. She rolls her eyes, "I'm fine. Just give one to me."

"No, Morgana. Look, sit down, I won't take long."

She smirks: he's not going to get away with telling her what to do. "Give me one, or I'll -" she tries to hard to think of a consequence; her immediate thought is to say 'or I won't kiss you again,' but she remembers bitterly that that would be a punishment for her, not for him. She doubts he'd care. He seems to have been very little affected by last night's kiss, which had so moved her. "Or I'll do it myself," she finishes, leaning behind him and grabbing one of the tools.

They work side by side for another five minutes, perfectly in rhythm as they draw out the old straw and replace it with fresh. Merlin notices that Morgana is surprisingly efficient at the task; she catches him looking and brushes a strand of hair behind her ear.

"I used to help my father with his horses," she explains.

Merlin nods, assimilating this new information. He wonders if it's different for her, having lost the father she loved, than for him, who's only ever known an aching emptiness, but he doesn't like to ask.

As the two of them enter Morgana's chambers, chattering lightly about something or other, Gwen looks up from a dress she's mending. She looks surprised to see them together and stands up.

"My lady," she says. "And Merlin?" she frowns at him, asking for an explanation.

"I am here to assist with my extensive knowledge of battle strategy," he explains hastily.

Morgana smacks him lightly on the shoulder and Gwen's eyes widen at the familiar contact. "Merlin's here to help us decide what to do about the Kings," she says, smiling innocently at her maid. "Get us some paper, would you, Gwen? I'd like to get a start."

The paper duly tacked to the wall with four of Morgana's hair pins, Merlin stands in front of it, quill pen ready in hand. "Who do we start with?" he asks the women.

"King Lot," says Morgana. "Blond, middle aged, and insufferable."

Merlin writes the name in the top left of the paper, underlining with a stroke of the pen. Gwen nods in thought. "What you need to do is find their weaknesses. Find them and exploit them," she says.

Morgana smiles. "You're quite right. Well, Lot doesn't shut up, I don't believe he stopped talking once at the banquet, even when nobody was listening to him."

Merlin writes 'talks constantly' under 'king lot.'

"Oh, no, King Lot, of course!" cries Gwen. "I was talking to one of his servants..."

"Does Arthur know you've been fraternising with Lot's serving boys?" Morgana interrupts, teasing her maid.

"A servant who happens to be a girl," Gwen reproves. "And it's none of Arthur's business who I speak to. Anyway, this girl, Mara, she says Lot is terrified of horses. Hates them, but he's much too proud to tell anyone. She says every time people visit his castle he has to pretend he likes horse riding because his kingdom is well known for its horses, they're the major export. He thinks if anyone knows how scared he is of horses his reputation will be ruined."

Morgana looks amused. "Gwen, you're a gem. I'll take my lord the King Lot riding tomorrow, and I won't shut up the whole time. "

"Is that wise?" Merlin says, thinking out loud. "What if he decides you're kindred spirits or something because you both love talking?"

Morgana considers the point. "It might be a risk I have to take," she argues, "And if it doesn't work I'll try something else. But honestly, men like Lot don't so much like talking as they like the sound of their own voice."

"I suppose so," Merlin accedes. "Go riding early tomorrow. That way when your idea works he'll have time to leave in the afternoon before it gets dark."

"I appreciate your faith in my plan," says Morgana, looking at him. He gives her a smile made tense by his knowledge that he's imagining the slight flirting in her tone. He always seems to be imagining that she's flirting with him. He sighs internally. It's a terrible habit.

"Who's next?" Gwen interrupts their staring.

Morgana closes her open mouth hurriedly. "King Cenred. Black hair, tall, slimy. In a word, he's a git. Wandering hands but he's a bit more sophisticated than Ban, he prefers subtle threats and power games to direct torture," she summarises.

"Are the wandering hands a weakness or a warning?" Gwen wonders aloud.

Morgana exchanges a grimace with Merlin. "Definitely a warning. I can't think of any weaknesses for Cenred, yet, I'll just try and stay away from him and we'll think about him later. Let's move on to Olaf."

"Olaf's only here because he wants a mother for the Princess Vivian," Gwen says. All three of them consider this statement. Merlin writes 'Cenred' in the top right, scribbles 'Olaf - only here to find mother for daughter' at the bottom left, leaving room for Pellinore in the last corner. In the centre of the page, Merlin writes, in large, looped handwriting 'lady Morgana.' Without thinking, he doodles a heart shape around her name, then looks promptly horrified and tries to erase it, succeeding only in smudging the ink.

Gwen glances across at the paper and frowns, but Morgana does not seem to have noticed. "I'm not really the maternal type," she comments, "and from what I've heard of Vivian it's a bit late for a mother to make any lasting impression, she's almost nineteen or something. Perhaps Olaf will notice that I'm not mother material and leave without making an offer?"

"From what I've heard, Olaf wants less of a mother and more of a jailer. Someone to control his daughter," Gwen says. Her servant credentials come with the privilege of inside information.

Morgana risks a look at Merlin. "Being in control I can handle."

"Let's come back to Olaf," says Merlin hastily. "Pellinore?"

"Older, grey hair, questing beast fixation. He spends his whole life looking for the questing beast, reading about the questing beast, and hunting things that aren't the questing beast in order to keep in practice for when he really faces the questing beast," Morgana rolls her eyes.

"Didn't know you could fit questing beast into a sentence that many times."

A slightly manic tone has appeared in Morgana's voice as she contemplates being married to a man whose only joy in life is fantasising about killing a mythical creature which may or may not exist. "Can we find him a questing beast and contract the thing to kill him?"

"No, no, hold on," says Gwen soothingly, "We don't need a real questing beast. We just need him to think there's a questing beast. I know - I'll ask an audience with the king and pretend to have received a letter speaking of something like a questing beast in one of the outlying villages."

"Say it's from your aunt or something," Merlin suggests, "And off Pellinore'll go, hopefully."

Morgana calms. "Yes, that should work. Can you do that the day after tomorrow, Gwen? By then we'll hopefully be two kings down," she asks her maid.

Gwen nods. The three sit in silence for a minute, enjoying the warm sunlight streaming in through the window. A shadow falls over the sun, prompting Gwen to stand from her seat at the table and heft a large basket of Morgana's frocks onto her hip. "If we're done for the minute I'd like to go and wash these. They'll need time to dry, and the sun might go."

"Of course, Gwen." Morgana stands up, too and gives her friend a hug. "Your help is invaluable. And thank you for washing my clothes."

As Gwen leaves the room, a faint click signalling the close of the door, Merlin also readies himself to leave. "Um, are you sure you're okay? After yesterday, I mean, Ban was pretty...intense," he asks, genuinely concerned but also wanting to prolong his time alone with her.

"I'm fine," Morgana says, "I feel safer now he's out of the castle. I don't think I, um, I don't think I thanked you...for helping me."

"Oh," Merlin fidgets, scratching his neck awkwardly. "You're welcome. I, um, I'm sorry if kissing you was the wrong thing to do, I just didn't know what else..."

Morgana raises her eyebrows and walks to the door, opening it for him. She doesn't think she trusts herself to be alone with him much longer, talking of that kiss, or she just might try again; which would no doubt horrify Merlin, given she's no longer being chased. "I seem to remember it was me who kissed you," she remarks as lightly as she can.

Merlin is a little disappointed that she's already gesturing for him to leave. "Yes, it was, I just - oh, I don't know. I'm sorry if I did wrong. Uh, also, do you want me to come on the ride tomorrow? I'll just ride a little behind the two of you, so you're not alone."

"I can look after myself, Merlin."

"I know, but...moral support?"

She relents, wishing that the ride could be just the two of them. _That's never going to happen_ , she reminds herself fiercely, _stop hoping for impossible things_.

"It would be nice, if you would come, thank you. We'll go early, I think, after breakfast. Can you get away from Arthur?"

Merlin nods: he'll figure something out. "And Merlin?" he hears Morgana call as he walks away down the hall. "You didn't do wrong," she says with a tight smile. "You have nothing to apologise for."

He smiles back, then walks away.


	4. A Ride By The River

**Disclaimer: I am not affiliated in any way with BBC, Julian Murphy, Johnny Caps, etc (sadly). I do not own the characters in Merlin, I am using them under the fair use and/or transformative works clause of copyright law and receive not profit or material privilege from my use of them.**

I hope you're enjoying it so far! Lines that got cut from this chapter include 'Merlin is woke af.'

Morgana's white horse bucks under Merlin's inattentive hands as he tries to saddle her, but Merlin is too busy glowering at King Lot to notice. Just as Morgana described, King Lot is undeniably blond and middle aged, the kind of blond, middle aged person who is trying desperately to pretend he is a young blond person. The man is smiling nervously at Morgana yet also seems to be managing to continue talking at quite a rapid pace: he doesn't appear to have stopped talking at any point since he walked out of the castle with Morgana on his arm, long cloaks arcing out behind them into the brisk morning air. Morgana is far too conditioned as a lady of the court to be anything but polite to him; Merlin wants to tell her to ignore him or say something cutting, anything to prove to Lot that she's not his type, but she simply smiles tightly at the King. As Lot places a proprietary hand on Morgana's arm, Merlin almost snaps the saddle bag off its leather strap. How dare Lot, this man who repels her, how dare he pretend he has any rights over her body.

Merlin guides the horses over, a huge black one (which he chose specifically because of its rebellious nature and intimidating visage) for Lot; Morgana's pretty white beast; and a smallish brown, quiet one who can be depended on to be calm and stay a little behind the others, for himself.

"My lady," he gives a small bow to Morgana to alert her to his presence. "I have your horses."

Morgana, looking at his bent head, represses an urge to throw her arms around him. She'd been reluctant to allow him to come, at first, knowing it would be torturous to have to pay attention to Lot while Merlin rode just behind them, just out of her sight line. But in the end, she's glad he came along, grateful for his comforting presence.

"Thank you," she says, trying to convey some of this warmth of feeling in her tone. "I appreciate it."

She mounts confidently, and Merlin can't help but admire her strategising, for she is already riding away as Lot struggles to mount his terrific animal.

"Do you need some help, my lord?" Merlin asks innocently, as Lot tries repeatedly to clamber up onto the high saddle, backing away in fear everytime the horse snorts.

"If you use his name, it might calm him. He's called Hellbeast," Merlin says helpfully.

Lot is now perspiring. Morgana has stopped at the gates and is looking back at them. "Come on, we'll miss the whole morning!" she calls merrily.

Lot, looking extremely grudging, allows Merlin to give him a leg up. Merlin and Morgana both smirk as he tips to the side and almost falls off before finding his balance and riding after Morgana's bright red cloak, already in the distance.

"...and the trout really are excellent, I don't think I've had finer fish in any of the five kingdoms, when you come to visit - or perhaps, dare I say it - to stay, you would like to try the trout. I do hope you like trout. Mysterious animals, fish, disappear so damned quickly, you see, but I can always catch them, best fisherman of the best fish in all the five kingdoms, that's me! I like animals, I really, really do..." King Lot continues to chatter.

Morgana grinds her teeth in frustration at his inane nonsense - he's not even saying anything real! Fish are mysterious animals? Her initial assumption was definitely right, he just likes the sound of his own voice.

Morgana, unable to bear the temptation any longer, gives up her pretence of listening and turns back to look at Merlin. He greets her glance with a cheerful grin which makes her heart lift and her stomach flip over.

'What is he talking about?' she mouths at him.

Merlin pretends to put on a stern expression. 'Trout. This is important, Morgana,' he mouths back.

She rolls her eyes skyward and Lot doesn't even notice as she reins back her horse, allowing him to take the lead while she lags behind briefly with Merlin.

"What happened to your plan, anyway? You were supposed to be matching him in the talking stakes," Merlin asks her in a low voice.

Morgana bites her lip, and the simple action makes the butterflies in Merlin's stomach begin to beat their wings desperately. "I would be talking too, if I could get a word in edgewise," she says, "Perhaps this wasn't such a good idea after all."

Merlin decides to take a risk. "It was a good idea. It meant I got to see you again," he says quietly.

Morgana gapes at him, momentarily speechless. _He's being nice,_ she tells herself. _He pities you and your useless plan, he doesn't really mean he wanted to see you again._ She looks away, feeling a slight blush stain cheeks.

"I should get back," she says, reluctantly allowing her horse to return to it's place beside Lot.

Merlin curses himself. He shouldn't have made it so obvious that he'd wanted to see her again. It wasn't right for him to want to see her, not considering their stations, and he could see in her speechless response that she didn't know how to reply _. Probably trying to figure out how to let him know that his attentions weren't appreciated, without being too cruel_ , he thinks gloomily. Damn his stupid mouth.

Merlin is distracted from his self censure by Morgana, who flicks her long braid casually over one shoulder, leaning forward as though intending to begin a gallop. Her hips sway side to side in the saddle, mimicked by the swish of her red cloak. He can see the white, soft skin of her neck above the collar and suddenly feels an overwhelming desire to kiss her there. As opposed to Lot, who still looks as though he might fall off the horse at any moment, Morgana appears completely calm and in control as she urges the horse further forward.

Morgana herself is finding it difficult not to turn around again and rejoin Merlin. She briefly allows herself to hear Lot's next words, something about the wood fires that the servants set every night as soon as the first deer is spotted on the hill, then tunes out, leaning forward slightly and flicking her hair over her shoulder. She wonders if Merlin is watching her from behind, and sways her hips subtly in time with the horse's motion in case he is. _Probably he's not_ , she admits, _in fact, knowing Merlin, he's likely off with his head in the clouds, following a butterfly or a pretty leaf in the breeze._ The thought makes her smile, which unfortunately Lot takes as a signal that she likes what he's said.

"You like deer?" he asks her eagerly.

"Oh, um, yes, deer are very pretty," she says vaguely.

They have reached the river, a blue trickle streaming away down the hill, and Lot begins to pull Hellbeast to a stop, nervously tugging at the reins.

"Let us dismount, my lady. There are things I wish to speak to you of," says Lot as seriously as it is possible to be when you are almost falling to the ground, as opposed to dismounting.

Morgana shoots Merlin a look full of panicked hilarity. He pulls his own horse to a stop, clambers off, then reaches up to assist Morgana to dismount.

"He's going to propose, isn't he?" Morgana asks quietly, her hands on Merlin's shoulders as he lifts her to the ground. She could have dismounted herself, she always has, but there was no way she was going to give up the opportunity to exchange a few words with Merlin.

Merlin risks a look at Lot. "Now is when you implement your plan, my lady. Talk so much he doesn't have a chance to propose."

Morgana nods, looking back at him as she walks away. "If I'm struggling, think of a distraction, won't you?"

Lot, looking unfortunately much more comfortable now that he is off the horse, smiles arrogantly at Morgana, grasping her hands and pulling her towards him. His hands are cold and floppy, much like the trout he was previously discussing, and Morgana wants to scream at him to let go of her. To stop pretending he has any right to her, to stop touching her like she's something that belongs to him. She pulls her hands out of grip.

Lot clears his throat. "My dear lady Morgana. I was honoured when the King Uther asked me here to 'compete' shall we say for your hand in marriage."

"Oh look, I saw a jumping fish. Look, over there!" Morgana points desperately.

He laughs patronisingly. "How pretty. Lady Morgana, I have thought about this very long and very deeply."

Yes, for two whole days, thinks Morgana sarcastically. A distraction might be nice now, Merlin? But her friend is nowhere to be seen.

"My lady. I wish to ask you if you would do me the honour of choosing me as your husband. I assure you our life together would be a pleasurable one."

Morgana looks at him, speechless. If she refuses him outright, word will get back to Uther, who might end up deciding she isn't mature enough to choose her own husband. She needs a few minutes to think, to find some way... Suddenly they both, turn, shocked by the sound of fast galloping hooves just behind them.

"Ride for your lives!" A screaming figure on horseback comes racing suddenly through the river. "Wilderaan are coming, ride for your lives!"

"Wilderaan are incredibly vicious. Mount, my lord! Hurry!" Morgana takes her cue, climbing onto her horse and beginning to gallop away, leaving Lot in the dust. Lot, who has paled considerably, tries desperately to calm and mount Hellbeast, eventually managing to clamber half on. Leaning forward, Lot nervously urges the horse to a gallop, apparently deciding that Wilderaan are more to be feared than horses.

As he pulls level with a now cantering Morgana Lot asks her, gasping for breath, "What is...a...Wilderaan?"

Morgana doesn't actually know what a Wilderaan is. "Um, Merlin?"

"Giant rats," Merlin explains helpfully. "They eat human flesh. They can smell fear."

"We must hurry," Morgana tells Lot. "They'll smell your fear of horses. I once knew a girl who got attacked by Wilderaan, well, we were never actually sure if it was her skeleton because they ate most of the identifying features you see..." Morgana does not stop talking about Wilderaan for the entirety of the half hour canter back to the castle. Lot looks paler and more clammy by the second.

As the come to a halt in the castle courtyard, Lot falls to the side and stumbles down gratefully. He grasps onto a balustrade to support his shaking legs and wipes his face with a hand. "My lady..."

Morgana dismounts calmly and hands her reins to Merlin. "Yes, my lord. You were saying something, by the river?"

Lot looks like he might be sick. "I never realised...and you do like to talk...Camelot had such vicious animals..." he mutters.

"I wouldn't bring a Wilderaan with me," Morgana can't help pointing out. "Although they do say that the babies make quite good pets, if you feed them enough meat," she adds quickly.

Lot makes a decision. This would appear to be a rare occurrence, evident in his own look of self surprise. "My lady, I fear it would be impossible for us to marry. I withdraw all offers, we are not suited."

"Because I have a voice separate to yours?" Morgana asks, hands on hips, voice clear and carrying in the small square.

"You talked so much!" Lot seems almost near tears. "I don't want a wife who speaks, I just want one to look pretty and make admiring sounds when I tell her about how exciting and dangerous my life is."

Morgana turns away in disdain. "You don't want a human wife at all, you want a pretty poppet," she calls to him.

Lot sounds relieved by her understanding. "Yes, exactly."

"You won't find any poppets in Camelot. All our women are extremely self possessed."

If any more terror could have shown on Lot's face he would likely have looked like one of those skeletons that appear in a lightning strike. "I believe it is time for me to leave Camelot."

Morgana has had enough. She's going to the stables to find Merlin. "Your rejection of me will not cause any problems with your alliance with Camelot, I'll make sure of that. I will tell the King you intend to leave this afternoon," she says graciously, then leaves the arrogant, frightened King standing in the courtyard and makes for the stables.

Merlin turns hurriedly from brushing down the horses as he hears her footsteps. "What happened?"

"Oh, he's gone. Or he will be this afternoon. Apparently I talk too much and come from a kingdom with too many vicious animals. Wilderaan. Brilliant distraction, by the way."

Now that it's over, Morgana feels elated by Lot's rejection. Two down, three to go.

A grin spreads over Merlin's face. "Ah, you did it."

"We did it." Time seems to slow for a moment, with each of them standing on opposite sides of the stable, holding each other's gaze in their own. Morgana's green eyes seem to speak a challenge. Merlin's blue ones wish for a response.

"Um," says Merlin softly, breaking the glance and looking down.

Morgana inhales deeply _. He doesn't want you_ , she reminds herself. _He doesn't. Want. You. Why would he?_ "I should go and tell Gwen," she says, turning around to go back the way she came.

"Wait!" Merlin calls her back and Morgana returns eagerly. "Yes?"

 _Tell her_ , Merlin urges himself. _Tell her you like her. Just say it! It's three words._ But it's like there's a gag over his mouth. Three words that can't find their way from the labrynth of his throat. Because he doesn't think he can bear to hear her rejection.

"I just had an idea for King Olaf. You should start a rumour that you're...forward. Then he might not want you for his daughter's stepmother," Merlin invents wildly.

"That I'm a slut, is that what you mean?" Morgana asks tartly, disappointed that he's not telling her what she thought he would be, when he called to her. Angry that she'd been hoping for it."Because I think that rumour's already done the rounds."

"Okay. Sorry. Just an idea, I didn't mean to offend you."

She softens, then an idea hits her. He's going to think she really is the forward one, but oh well: he's far too polite to refuse her. She might as well get something out of this rumour that she's 'forward.'

"A rumour might work actually. But let's make it more specific." She lifts her chin, challenging him to deny her.

"Let's start a rumour that I'm no longer pure. Uther never needs to know, he doesn't listen to rumours, but it might get to Olaf. Come to my chamber tonight, will you?"

Merlin pales. "Wait, you want to start a rumour that you and I..."

"Slept together, yes." Morgana say calmly.

"But -"

"You don't need to be implicated, nobody will know your name. Stop worrying, Merlin, I told you I wouldn't let the king hurt you." Morgana is becoming more invested in this plan by the second. And Merlin's blushing – she's not sure whether or not this is a good sign, but it's certainly very cute.

"Are you actually suggesting that we...?" Merlin asks hesitantly. He's unsure how he would feel about this. If that's what she was suggesting, would it mean something more? Or would it make him a discardable chess pawn, something to be used and tossed aside if need be?"

Morgana sighs internally. She half hopes he will say that they can't possibly spread the rumour without doing anything at all, but she knows he won't.

"I wasn't suggesting that. Besides, I will need some plausible deniability if Uther were to hear. But it will cause a scandal if you're seen coming at night and not leaving until the morning, won't it? As long as you're okay with spending the night in my room," she says quickly.

He gives her a bright smile. "If you're okay with people thinking that about you."

"I'll do a lot to get rid of King Olaf, honestly. You don't have to, if you're worried about your reputation, but I - it's just, it could work."

"Alright. Of course. I'll see you about nine tonight, then? I've really got to go to Arthur now, there's meant to be a hunt for the Kings later..."

Morgana nods. "I should tell Gwen that Lot's dealt with. Thank you, Merlin," and she's gone. If she'd looked behind her as she walked away, she would have seen Merlin stand, still, immobile, in the same place for a long time. Trying to get his heart to beat a little slower.


	5. Rumour Has It

**Disclaimer: I am not affiliated in any way with BBC, Julian Murphy, Johnny Caps, etc (sadly). I do not own the characters in Merlin, I am using them under the fair use and/or transformative works clause of copyright law and receive not profit or material privilege from my use of them.**

Morgana lets Merlin stand outside the door for several minutes before she opens it; she wants anyone who is happening to walk past to see him standing there - the whole point, after all, is for people to know, although it feels severely counter-intuitive to be hoping people see Merlin coming to her chambers.

He smiles when she lets him in, a happy smile that warms her from inside. His mere presence is a comfort to her after the anxiety of worrying all day that her plan will fail. Morgana doesn't think she could bear becoming the wife of one of three smug, ancient, or slimy kings still present in the castle.

"Evening," Merlin says. Morgana is wearing a flimsy cotton nightdress combined with a fur stole. Although she's mostly covered, he's having a difficult time looking away from the lines of her underneath the thin sleepwear. Her hair ripples over her shoulders like a midnight waterfall. He pulls his eyes away from her.

"I, uh, I brought you these." He thrusts a pretty bunch of pale yellow flowers towards her, scraggly and obviously hand picked.

"Oh, they're beautiful," Morgana is touched. She allows herself to imagine for a moment that these flowers symbolise something - that he's not acting perhaps? That he's as infatuated with her as she is with him? _Don't be silly_ , Morgana tells herself firmly. _He's playing his role just like I asked. That's all._

She turns away and finds a silver vase on a side table, busying herself in the action of stuffing the flowers into it and centering it on the round table.

Merlin stands awkwardly, unsure what to do now. He wishes he could have said something more when he gave her the flowers, something about how none of this feels like a game anymore _. But that would be inappropriate_ , he reminds himself. _She wants rid of her suitors, she doesn't want me._

"I guess we wait here now. You can sit down," Morgana says with a smile, doing so.

"So, erm, when you said we should spread a rumour that we had...slept together...how exactly are you planning on making them believe that?" Merlin gestures vaguely to the door, indicating the guards. "I mean, for all they know, we could be having a nice chat. Like we are actually doing, I mean."

Morgana shrugs. "The guards have nothing to do all day but gossip. If there's a rumour going, you can guarantee they've spread it. I kind of thought you coming here and then leaving in the morning would be scandalous enough...you don't think so?"

"I don't know. I don't know a lot about this kind of thing," Merlin admits.

Morgana raises her eyebrows playfully. "Rumours? Or sex?"

He bites his lip, feeing the tips of his ears flush red.

Morgana notices his discomfort and hastens to agree with his point. "But you're probably right, of course. Maybe we're being too quiet." She stands and begins to pace. "Don't people make noise when they...you know?"

Merlin shrugs, if his ears had been red before he's certain his entire face is now scarlet. "I wouldn't know, Morgana."

"Wait," she turns to face him, "You mean you haven't...?"

"What? No! Of course I haven't. Haven't you, don't you know?"

"I don't know! But, really? You're being serious, you really haven't?"

"Yes, I'm being serious."

"Oh."

Morgana is surprised at his admission; she'd always assumed in some vague, jealous part of her head that he's had lovers, girls perhaps prettier than her and kinder or something. It now occurs to her that he's assumed the same about her.

She rolls her eyes and makes for the door. "Leaving aside our inexperience...we'd better make something up or they really might think we're just having a cosy chat. Come over here, where they can hear us." Morgana leans against the door frame, beckoning to Merlin. He joins her, leaning comfortably into the opposite side. They look at each other in consternation.

"What do I say?" Morgana whispers.

"Um, maybe...maybe sigh or something?" Merlin offers, completely at sea.

She gives him a panicked look. "Okay, um, uh," and instinctively tipping her head back, she releases a breathy sigh that Merlin thinks is the most erotic sound he's ever heard.

"Your turn," she hisses across the small alcove space under the door frame.

"Mmm?" tries Merlin.

"Aah," Morgana responds. Then, "Uh, um, no...stop talking, you're...making me blush?"

"If we've gotten to the 'ahs' I really hope I'm doing more than making you blush," Merlin contends in a heated whisper.

"Oh, you say something then, if you know everything!"

"You're beautiful? You're...really good at this?" he offers.

"Oh, brilliant, you've just called me a slapper."

"I was paying you a compliment."

"That was not a compliment!" Their eyes meet suddenly, and they cannot hold back their hilarity at the ludicrous situation. Bending forwards, hands clutching at stomachs, they giggle silently, unable to stop. Eventually, Morgana wipes her streaming eyes and goes again.

"Keep going, please, I need you, please, I need you in-" she stops short, too embarrassed to finish the sentence. Merlin, who has clocked where the remark was going, feels his finally cool face flush a deep magenta.

Morgana is not giving up. "No, stop, it's too much - I, uh, erm, - I can't take anymore."

Merlin gives her a look of bewilderment. "Morgana, I'm having sex with you, not beating you up," he hisses.

"Your turn. You've barely said anything!" she returns, raising her eyebrows, looking forward to seeing what he'll come up with.

"Fine, look, I'm stopping...we'll just...we'll just kiss."

Morgana flaps her hands at him. "No, don't say that! Now they think we're not having sex, the whole point is for them to think we're having sex!"

"Well, I wasn't going to continue, you just told me to stop!"

Morgana sighs, acceding the point. She lifts her cold hands to her heated face and wonders whether this line of play acting has any point in continuing. "I think that will have to do. Let's let the rumour mill do its work, I can't think of anything else to say."

Merlin is grateful for the reprieve. He hovers uncertainly in the middle of the room. "It's really late. Maybe you should get some sleep," he suggests. Tomorrow they'll both need to do some more acting to convince Pellinore to get on his way.

Morgana shakes her head. "I don't think I'm going to be able to sleep with you sitting there or whatever, awake."

"I can sleep in the chair." Then he suddenly realises what might be worrying her. "I, erm, I wouldn't touch you while you were asleep, if that's what you..."

"No. No, I know you wouldn't. I'd just feel bad is all, letting myself sleep while you had to stay awake. Those chairs aren't very comfortable."

They stop, looking at each other through the shadows in the room, moonlight flinging a pale shine over them both.

"You can't just stay awake all night," Merlin says gently. He knows she has trouble with sleeping; she should get it while she can, on nights less bothered by portents and dreams.

"Fine. We'll both sleep in the bed," Morgana decides daringly. She's fed up with being careful with him. There's one room, one bed, and they both need to sleep: they trust one another, don't they? What harm could it do? "That's what everybody will think we've been doing anyway. We might as well get some sleep out of this rumour."

Merlin is staring at her, open mouthed and unsure how to respond to the suggestion. He's exhausted, having been working for Arthur all day since returning from the river, as well as acting as a beater on the hunt organised for the Kings. But surely this is inappropriate? Merlin realises with a sinking feeling that only someone completely confident in a platonic relationship could suggest something like this. He has no chance with her.

"Fine," he says eventually, stifling a yawn. "If that's the only way I'm going to get you to sleep."

She smiles, turning away and walking to one side of the bed. "I'll take this side."

Merlin tugs off his shoes and awkwardly folds his jacket, leaving them in a neat parcel by the side of the bed. Morgana pulls the blankets around her, sliding the fur cloak off her arms and letting it drop to the floor, performing a little perhaps. Lifting her arms a bit higher than she would have alone, arching her back. Merlin tries not to look, concentrating on pulling aside the blankets instead. He climbs into the opposite side of the high bed, almost sinking in the unexpected softness of the mattress.

Morgana gives him an odd look. "You can...if you don't think you'll sleep comfortably like that, you can take your shirt off. If you want."

Merlin curses his expressive face, sure it is demonstrating how much he would like to do that. Or take her shirt off, preferably. "I'll sleep fine, thank you. My lady," he adds, trying to inject some level of formality into the proceedings.

In the darkness Merlin can just barely make out the profile of her face, the rise and sink of her chest. It feels oddly natural to be in the same bed as her; almost as though they've done this a million times before.

"Goodnight," whispers Morgana into the darkness, voice a lilting whisper.

"Goodnight, Morgana," Merlin whispers back.

And they sleep.


	6. The Questing Beast

**Disclaimer: I am not affiliated in any way with BBC, Julian Murphy, Johnny Caps, etc (sadly). I do not own the characters in Merlin, I am using them under the fair use and/or transformative works clause of copyright law and receive not profit or material privilege from my use of them.**

No, nothing happened that night after they went to bed…sorry! They both think the other doesn't love them. It's going to make for a good bit of angst very soon.

 _She hasn't felt this safe in years._ This is Morgana's first thought as she awakes the next morning. Although the chill air of Camelot's stone castle usually wakes her fairly early with chilled shoulders and a face stiff with cold, this morning she feels curiously warm. She takes a moment to enjoy the pleasurable comfort of the unexpected safety and warmth before she opens her eyes.

 _Oh_ , thinks Morgana, _how could I have forgotten about that_?

Still asleep, Merlin lies in crumpled clothing beside her. At some point in the night she has curled up into the curve of him, and his arm is flung high around her shoulder, cushioning her neck. Tentatively, Morgana lifts a gentle hand and strokes his face, the bone in his cheek feeling brittle as eggshell under her fingers. She lets herself linger on his face, tracing the line of his jaw, the roughness on his chin. Letting the soft pads of her fingers drag across his face. All the way to his lips. Knowing she might never be able to do this again sends a sharp pang through her and she withdraws, lying back against the pillows.

A banging sound stirs her again and makes Morgana realise what it is that has woken her: Gwen has arrived, and is tidying the anteroom. She'll be coming in any minute and then she'll see...and she'll think they... _This was the plan_ , Morgana thinks, annoyed with herself, _people are meant to think this._ But even though she is desperate to get rid of Olaf, Morgana feels oddly angry at the way people will construe this. The feeling of safety hasn't quite worn off, and if she tries, Morgana could imagine a scene where Merlin climbs into bed beside her to comfort her. To keep her safe, not as an unwanted consequence of a silly plan. Morgana almost can't bear to think that the court will take something that makes her feel so good and turn it into one more weapon to taunt her behind her back.

"Merlin," she whispers, tapping his shoulder. "Wake up."

He does, almost immediately. For a moment he smiles, a wide grin that would have looked goofy on anyone else. _Almost as though he's happy to awaken in my bed._

"Gwen's here," says Morgana quietly. "What do you want to do?"

"Oh. I don't know. Do you think it would help if she saw us?" _Already back to the plan._ Morgana tries to match his businesslike tone.

"This wasn't part of the plan. I don't want her to see you here," she says. Maybe it's irrational - rumours are inherently uncontrollable, and here she is trying to control who hears it. But their night together feels too tender and fragile to be turned into (even gentle) teasing or disapproval.

"I could go out the window," Merlin points out, seemingly serious.

"Don't be ridiculous, we're three stories up. Here, you get dressed, I'll stall Gwen out there. Then we'll pretend you just came over early to...deliver something."

She slips out of the bed, bending and wrapping her fur stole once more about her shoulders. She pads gently out into the ante room, shutting the door behind her, and Merlin hears her greet Gwen, who responds in a surprised tone. Merlin climbs out hurriedly, hoping the creases in his clothing aren't too obvious, runs a hand through his hair and pulls his shoes and jacket back on. As the two women renter the room, he's standing decorously by the table, a small bottle in his hand.

"Morning, Gwen," he says cheerfully.

"Morning. You're here very early, Morgana says you woke her," Gwen sounds surprised and a little suspicious.

"Merlin has yet to learn how to tell the time, apparently," Morgana remarks, giving Merlin a sweet, teasing smile.

He looks awkward. "I'd better go. Here's your remedy, my lady."

"We'll see you later, I've asked for an audience with the king today," Gwen reminds him.

Merlin gives an awkward smile and a half nod, half bow, and ducks out of the room. Morgana pretends not to notice Gwen noticing the twin indents in Morgana's high bed, or the crumpled state of the sheets, pushed back on both sides.

"My lord, I beg you to help me," Gwen pleads, kneeling dramatically before King Uther and the assembled court - including Cendred, Olaf, and, crucially, Pellinore. If she is over acting a littl nobody seems to have noticed, especially not Arthur who looks very much the way Merlin feels when he sees Morgana cry.

"My aunt," Gwen's hands shake as she lifts a letter in black ink on low quality parchment. She, Merlin, and Morgana had been very pleased with the fabrication of this letter, convincingly written in a handwriting that bore only a little resemblance to Gwen's own.

"Her village, on the outskirts of the kingdom. My lord, they've been attacked...children threatened. Their village is peaceful, they seek only a home and food for their bellies, but there is this...this beast she says."

Pellinore, chatting idly with a knight on the other side of the throne room looks up sharply. Morgana catches Merlin's eye and winks.

"She claims that it has the neck and head of a snake, the legs of a lion, the body of a leopard and the feet of a hart," Gwen recites breathlessly. King Pellinore jumps to his feet, all but running to her and grabbing her shoulders, pulling her up.

"Your family, they are in mortal peril?" he asks eagerly.

"Yes." Poor Gwen feels a little bad about lying to Pellinore, he seems so genuinely excited by the prospect of defending someone in mortal peril. Then she remembers that the alternative is him being married to Morgana and she stops feeling sorry for him.

"The creature your aunt has described, it sounds like the Questing Beast. Have you heard of the Questing Beast?" Pellinore is almost leaping out of his own skin in excitement, his long greying hair bouncing on his shoulders.

Uther steps forward. "If it is the Questing Beast, am I to take it this means you will be leaving us, Pellinore?" His voice has an undercurrent of danger that Pellinore either doesn not notice, or chooses to ignore.

"I am sorry to disappoint an old friend, Uther. The lady Morgana is one of the most exquisite women I have ever met and I will be sorry to be no longer able to seek her hand. But, if, that is to say, when, the Questing Beast is found and captured, I swear to return with the head of the thing mounted as a present for the lady," Pellinore garbles.

Morgana decides it is time she stepped in. Reaching for Gwen, she pulls the girl close. "My lord Pellinore, Gwen is like a sister to me. We would be both be filled with gratitude if you would help her family. We know if anyone has the power to destroy the Questing Beast it is you," she says graciously.

Merlin stifles a snigger and Morgana shoots him an annoyed warning look. He shuts up.

"If you were to return before my hand is promised, I would gladly consider a king as brave and noble as yourself as my future husband. You must do the right thing, Pellinore, above any consideration of me," she finishes politely. The court applauds her little speech, and Uther puts a heavy hand on Morgana's shoulder.

He looks anything but pleased as he says through gritted teeth, "As my ward puts it so graciously, you must do as you think is right, Pellinore. We will miss you, but of course you must take any food or provisions necessary for your journey from our stores."

Turning away with a sweep of his long brown cloak, Uther dismisses them all. Pellinore is the first out of the door, absolutely beaming.

Morgana stays behind, looking at Uther's stiff back as the remainder of the court files out of the room. "You don't look best pleased, my lord," she comments as the door gives a final bang behind the courtiers.

Uther spins around, pointing a finger at her. "Three kings gone already. I can't prove that you're behind this, Morgana, but if I find that you are in any way trying to defy me in my decision the consequences will be severe."

His breath smells of wine and ruthlessness.

Morgana takes a step away from him, heart beating in fear this time, not longing. But none of her fear shows on her face. "I respect you far too much to defy you, my lord," she says coolly.

Uther comes closer, one hand fastening about her wrist. "You had better have nothing to do with this, Morgana, and you had better hope none of the remaining kings leave as suddenly as Ban, Lot, and Pellinore. Do not think you can defy me. I know what is best for you."

He drops her wrist, letting it fall limply against her dress. "Leave me," he says.

Morgana turns and walks away, the steadiness of her footsteps not betraying the fear in her eyes.


	7. Practicing

**Disclaimer: I am not affiliated in any way with BBC, Julian Murphy, Johnny Caps, etc (sadly). I do not own the characters in Merlin, I am using them under the fair use and/or transformative works clause of copyright law and receive not profit or material privilege from my use of them.**

"Come in," Morgana looks up eagerly at the knock at her bedroom door, sure it is Merlin come to check up on her. It's late, and she hasn't seen him all day. For the better part of the afternoon, she's been sitting here, ruminating on Uther's words. Morgana feels very close to giving up; she's defied Uther all her life, it's a part of their relationship, and his threat shouldn't frighten her as much as it does. But Morgana can't help but wonder whether he really will force her to marriage: she can beat him by wile, but not by brute strength. _And what's the point, anyway, of staying in Camelot, if Merlin doesn't love her? Is there any future for her in Camelot, with no claim to the throne and the only man she has ever loved not loving her?_

Expecting to see Merlin's cheerful, comforting smile and bright blue eyes, she's shocked and disappointed by the man who enters the room. Cenred. His long dark hair is greasy and hangs about his face; he stinks of ale and mildew.

"My lady," Cenred's bow is mocking.

Morgana swallows, not glancing down at her white nightdress in all its clinging transparency. "I'd prefer not to see you alone. At night. In my chambers. Please leave me."

Cenred smiles. "Come now, Morgana, and after I paid the guards outside your door all that gold so they'd leave us alone?"

The threat is subtle, but it's there. Scream, and nobody will come running. Nobody's going to save you - everybody turns a blind eye for enough gold.

"What do you want?" Morgana asks. As Cenred steps further into the room, she turns so that she's standing in front of the door, an escape route just behind her.

"What else but you?" Cenred picks up the tiny bottle filled with an amber liquid, Morgana's sleep medicine, and reads the label in Gauis' scripted handwriting. "You don't sleep, my lady? Never mind. There are other things we can do at night, once we are married."

"I'd like to remind you that I am a lady of Camelot. And we are not married. You can't speak to me like this." Morgana hovers somewhere between panic and outrage.

Cenred is still circling the room, picking things up and fingering Morgana's possessions. His hand brushes the flowers Merlin brought for her, tears a bloom from the rest and crumbles it in his gloved palm. "I think you'll find that I can do most things that I want," he comments neutrally. "Anyway," He turns to her with an ugly smile, "I really came to tell you that none of your little tricks are going to work on me. So I wouldn't bother, if I were you."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Morgana states coolly. Despite the calm tone in her voice, her heart is beating wildly. She steps backwards, touching the doorknob like a charm, finding a way out, if she needs it.

"I think you know exactly what I'm talking about. Ban, Lot, Pellinore: you're doing it, but not alone. Who's helping you? Arthur? Your maid?" At her lack of response, he leans heavily against the table and pulls out a final suggestion, drawing it long and threatening in the air. "The servant boy the guard saw coming out of your room this morning?"

Morgana feigns boredom. "Leave them out of this, and maybe I won't knee you in a certain area."

Cenred laughs again, coming towards her and trying to put his arms around her neck, but she pushes him away, ducking under his arm which leaves her free, but no longer in a position ready for escape. Cenred remains before the door, blocking her way out. "Morgana, Morgana, Morgana. What I don't understand is why you're so against this. If you married me you'd be queen. Here you'll never be more than the king's ward. Wouldn't you like to be queen, Morgana?" he tempts.

Morgana lifts her chin, squaring her shoulders and leaning slightly against the table. Goddamit, she is not going to let him see the smallest hint of fear on her face. She is not. "Oh, I'd happily take your kingdom, Cenred. Just preferably without you in it."

"Ooh. Well. I regret to be the bearer of sad news, but I have to inform you that I'll be in a lot more than my kingdom when I wed you. I'm thinking - a spring wedding, wouldn't that be lovely? Do you think Uther would be agreeable? Or does he want to get rid of you sooner?"

"I will not go willingly, and if you force me to the altar I will fight you veil to shroud."

Cenred claps his hands. "Feisty. I like it. But, alas, I must leave you, my lady." Cenred comes close to her, hands on her hips, lips close to her ear. "Consider this a warning: do not imagine you can play with me. Don't even think that you are capable of that." He lets go of her as suddenly as he had grabbed her; this is fortunate for him, as Morgana had been readying herself to knee him. "Sleep well," Cenred sing songs as he disappears from her sight.

Morgana sinks down onto the bed, examining her shaking hands with a critical eye, then sinking her head between them. Another knock startles her, and she doesn't respond, certain that it is Cenred returning. _I'll fight him altar to grave_ , she promises herself, _but perhaps I really do have no choice_. Morgana's heard of such things: girls with frothy white veils to hide tear streaked faces, gags stuffed down throats and heads contorted into forced nods. If it happened to them it could happen to her.

"Morgana?" Merlin's quiet voice makes her jump and she looks up to see him crossing the room, concern evident in his frown. "I saw Cenred leaving as I was coming up. Everything alright?"

She looks up at him, his kindness after Cenred's taunting making her eyes fill with unshed tears. She's tired of being strong, she's tired of being feisty, she's tired of being defiant. Morgana is done. The mute appeal in her upturned features makes Merlin's heart contract with worry.

"Did he hurt you?" Without thinking, Merlin sits beside her, cupping her face in one palm.

"No," Morgana whispers. "But we're done."

Merlin is confused. Done with what? With their relationship ( _which never started_ , he reminds himself hurriedly)? With their friendship? Then he realises she means with their plans. "What did he say to you? You can't just give up. We're three kings down!" Merlin exclaims, frustrated with the apparently causeless abandonment of her defiance.

"He didn't say anything to me," Morgana swipes at her eyes, feeling suddenly angry at Merlin for not understanding. "Or nothing I didn't know already." She stands and begins to pace.

"I don't know what you're trying to say," Merlin tells her.

"Oh, you have no idea do you? No idea what it's like to feel that you have no choices, that if you refuse a decree you'll be forced to it, gagged and veiled and trussed up ready for your husband to do what he will! You have no idea what it's like to be afraid that you have no future, afraid for your life and afraid for your freedom, you just don't get it!" Morgana becomes aware, suddenly, that she's shouting, standing in the middle of the room yelling at an increasingly anxious looking Merlin. She calms slightly, stilling herself. "You have no idea, what it's like to think that you'll never be anything more than an object to be lusted over. To be afraid that nobody will ever love you," she whispers.

Merlin's heart aches to tell her that she's so incredibly loved, that he loves her. But he feels certain that he's not the one she wants to love her. "You're in love with Cenred?" he asks slowly.

"No!" Morgana all but screams. "I hate the bloody man. But Uther's going to force me to marry whether I agree or not so let's just give up with this bloody plan because it's not going to bloody work!"

Merlin stands and Morgana's heart drops like a stone in her chest. _Great. Now I've pushed him away, too. He's going to leave and not come back and then I really will be all alone._ Tears of anger and self pity and helplessness spill down her face as she turns away, not wishing to see him walk out of the door. So she's surprised at the soft touch that lands on her back. Because he hasn't left. He's come to her, and he holds her very close and she sobs, on and on and gasping for breath until she can cry no more.

"Sit down," Merlin tells her gently, pulling her to the bed and tenderly helping her to sit, wrapping her tightly in the bedclothes. He reaches a tentative hand and strokes her face and Morgana wonders at the intimacy in the gesture, brief hope sparking in her hurting heart. Her hope fades as he draws away. Clearing his throat.

"This isn't the Morgana I know. She'd never give in to Uther's demands," he tells her sternly.

"Yeah, well, maybe I grew up," Morgana mumbles. She looks up and sighs. "No, you're right. I just feel so helpless..."

Merlin's glance at her is oddly intense. "I'm not giving up on you, Morgana. You shouldn't give up on yourself either."

Morgana shrugs, twisting the blankets as tight and as close as she can, for comfort. "Okay. Fine. Not giving up. I don't know how to get rid of the last two, though."

Merlin nods. "Let's start with what Gwen said: find their weaknesses, exploit them. Now, Olaf's weakness is his daughter." Merlin's businesslike turn brooks no argument and somewhat revives Morgana, who thinks hard.

"So, I need to show him that I won't make a good mother," she says slowly.

"Good. How do you do that?" Merlin prompts.

Morgana thinks. "I could...uh...get a small child, and drop it."

Merlin winces. "Bit dangerous. For the small child."

"Right." Morgana sighs and thinks again. "So, I could get a slightly less small child, and drop them? Less damage."

"But still too much damage," replies Merlin firmly.

"I...get an older child and...completely ignore them," Morgana is exhausted and running out of ideas. Then a thought strikes her. "No, wait! It's not children that are his weakness, it's just his child. I know what to do - I'll get Vivian's name wrong."

 _Simple_ , thinks Merlin, _but perfect_. It would hit Olaf's pressure point and hopefully drive him away. He smiles tenderly at her. "Anyone ever tell you you're brilliant?"

Morgana smiles a wry smile, "Not many, lately."

They are silent for a minute. Outside the window, the waning moon rises higher in the sky and at the sight of the diminishing orb Morgana feels a shiver of foreboding. Waning moons don't spell good things. Merlin has sunk down on the edge of her bed, his hand resting right beside her own, their skin as pale as the outside moon. Merlin has come to a decision about Cenred.

"Um," he begins, unsure about what she'll think of this, "When you asked me to help you, you said we should pretend we were, um, together. I think...I think that's what we need to do for Cenred. Pretend you and I are in love and that's why you can't marry him."

Morgana flinches internally at his use of the word 'pretend.' She says greedily, "Yes. Let's do that. We'll wait until after Olaf's gone and then..."

"Make a declaration?" Merlin finishes softly, catching her gaze the way she catches her lip between clenched teeth, the way torn skin grabs at fabric. Morgana lifts a hand to her hair, running her fingers through it, relieving the stomach clenching jolt of his glance.

"Merlin, I -" she begins, "I know I told you I wouldn't let Uther hurt you. But I can't promise that any, he's more...ruthless. Than I thought he would be, and I don't know what he'll do to you."

He starts speaking almost before she's finished. "It doesn't matter, I don't care." He doesn't think he'll be able to live much longer without hearing her say that she loves him, even if it's only pretend. Maybe he'll be able to get her out of his head if he can tell her that he loves her. Maybe.

"You'd put your life at risk to save me?" Morgana asks.

 _Yes, a million times_ , Merlin thinks, but makes his answer a little more diplomatic. "My life isn't worth more than yours, and you wouldn't have any life at all with Cenred. Sometimes you just need to do the right thing."

"And damn the consequences," whispers Morgana, an echo of something she'd said a long time before. About Merlin that time, too, she remembers. There are so many unspoken things in the quiet that follows; long golden strings of secrets burning up their throats and it's killing them from the inside. But they cannot speak these things, because they don't believe the other loves them. And maybe that's what happens to people who think that they are monsters; maybe they stop believing that anyone could love them, even when somebody does.

Merlin feels like he's going to fall apart if he doesn't speak just a little of this: this secret, that he loves her, it's killing him inside and he needs to hear it said, even if she's not going to believe him. "Maybe we should practice. What we're going to say to Cenred."

"Practice?" Morgana looks up at him helplessly, knowing with sudden clarity she will be completely unable to find the words to say what she feels for him. Some things have too much meaning to fit inside language. She licks her lips, pink tongue skimming bitten skin and leaving it glossed. She says, so quietly it is almost inaudible, "Merlin? After we've said...everything to Cenred. Will you kiss me? It'll be...more convincing."

"Convincing," Merlin echoes curiously. For a moment after her suggestion he feels sudden hope that maybe she cares for him too. Why else would she ask him to kiss her? _To get rid of Cenred_ , he answers himself. _For her, not for us_. And he can live without saying 'I love you' if he can lip-spell it instead. "Of course I will. Maybe we should - maybe we should practice that bit. The kiss."

"Yes," Morgana replies, and without hesitation or stammering movement she reaches for him, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling his head down to meet hers. The slant of their heads mimics the slant of the moonlight, tilted heads twisted so lips can meet gently, sending feeling all down through their nerve endings. It's the most beautiful thing, the kind of beautiful that looks the way love would look, if you could see it: perfect, too powerful and too bright and too brilliant to look at straight on, lest your eyes burn up, like looking at the sun. His fingers reach through her hair, cradling her skull in one hand. Her hands bead like dewdrops through his, grasping tightly onto the long ebony twists, holding him close.

Then he lets her go.

"No -" Morgana reaches out, trying to stop him, but he's already sitting back, not looking at her.

Merlin can't trust himself to kiss her any longer, such gentle calm brilliance, can't trust that he won't push her back against the pillows and find her soft neck with his tongue and slide his hands across her, and she wouldn't want that. It's meant to be a practice, the way you dip your lips against your best friend's so you know how to do it when it's really time. But it doesn't feel like a game anymore.

They're playing with things they don't fully understand. Freedom. Life. Force. Love. It's going to tear them apart, before they're done.

Morgana breathes heavily, telling herself not to demean herself by begging for him. _He pities you_ , she thinks, _he pities you, you're too needy, he didn't want to kiss you in the first place. Let him go._

"I should -" Merlin gestures to the door, and stands up. Morgana nods without looking, fingers twisting in her blankets. When the door shuts behind him, it hurts just as much as she thought it would.


	8. Things That Are True

**Disclaimer: I am not affiliated in any way with BBC, Julian Murphy, Johnny Caps, etc (sadly). I do not own the characters in Merlin, I am using them under the fair use and/or transformative works clause of copyright law and receive not profit or material privilege from my use of them.**

 **Thank you** ** _so much_** **to the people who reviewed this! It made me ridiculously happy and as a reward you get an almost 4000 word chapter, yay! I hope you like it.**

Morgana lies, head underneath her heavy blankets, curled as tight as she can make herself. Everything hurts, a huge soreness all over her body, still tender and aroused from his touch. She's so alone, all alone, and she wants Merlin here with her like he was the other night. Wants his calm, clean goodness and his comforting body; his arm around her and herself curled into his side. She wants his compassion and his kindness and she wants his blue eyes to open into hers. She wants his sassy, flippant humour and his calloused, gentle hands. Morgana feels yet more tears, tears she didn't know she had left in her, spill over her cheeks and onto her mattress. _She loves him, she loves him. But he doesn't love her._

 _"Please. Please. I need you," Morgana's ragged panting is so close to Merlin's ear. He touches her gently, teasing, his hands down her arms making her tingle all over. "Please," she begs him, and he can't stop himself anymore, his fingers sweeping her hair back from her face, his lips tight against hers. She pulls him backwards against the pillows, wrapping her arms so very tightly around his neck. Merlin kisses her again, her lips, her neck. All the way along her collar bone and her arms tighten convulsively as his lips find the soft curves above her neckline. He can feel her nails digging into his back and he slides his hand behind her back, fingers dipping deeper, fighting to unlace her nightgown. Morgana gasps out, "Stop...talking...you're making me...blush."_

That's when they both wake up. It's still early, too early to rise, and Merlin almost cries out as the delicious dream is broken by morning light, his body still hard and throbbing and aroused. He looks to the side, almost expecting Morgana to be there. He wants her so much it's like a physical hunger. Wants her smile and the brightness of her green eyes, the press of her body wrapped in his arms, her long, graceful fingers all along him. Her snarky comments and her laughter and the compassion that runs in her like quicksilver. Her strength deep and unseen; her resilience which never fails to astonish him. He wants her here, in this small bed which would force them close, knees entwining and her head curled into his chest. _He loves her, he loves her. But she doesn't love him._

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Morgana feels an acute sense of déjà vu as she once again stands in the banquet hall, looking out over the crowd. She's arrived late, and made her entrance quietly, hoping to avoid notice. In another desperate effort to appear undesirable, Morgana has donned a brown frock with severe lines which cover her from shoulder to wrist. It was a dress that belonged to her mother: although Vivienne had failed at the essential task of staying alive, during her lifetime she had excelled in invisibility. Morgana remembers her mother, in her dark clothing and stern cuts, hiding at the back of banqueting halls, avoiding notice as far as possible. Morgana knows much better than her mother that visibility is sometimes the best way to go unnoticed: Morgana knows how to manipulate the gaze, make men do what she wants with a single lifted finger and a low cut gown. It's a game she plays often, making them want her, making them hungry. It's enjoyable and salacious and somehow a resistance - a disruption of their ownership. But Morgana's not playing anymore, and today she's happy to take her mother's disappearance as advice, the only advice Vivienne has ever given her.

She inhales deeply, trying to calm her dark sense of foreboding and regain the playfulness with which she had dispatched Lot and Pellinore, but the stakes feel far too high to enjoy this. It's a battle. It's a war. And it's one she must win. _Focus, Morgana_ , she tells herself, _Olaf today and Cenred tomorrow._

Observing the battle field before she enters the fray, she sees Merlin, standing beside Gauis with a cloth covered pitcher in hand on the far side of the hall. She feels a brief spike of pleasure combined with sadness as she thinks of their kiss last night, how beautiful it felt and how soon it was over. Still, if all went well, tomorrow would bring the pleasure again. Tomorrow she'd get to tell Merlin how much she loved him. She could only wish that it was real, that he would really believe her. She could only wish that he loved her back.

Morgana shivers from fear, not cold as she enters the hall and notes Cenred's smug face, where he stand nearby chatting leisurely with Uther. When he sees her, he lifts his goblet with a taunting bow and an odd expression of triumph which Morgana returns with a stiff, disdainful curtsy. Turning away, she finds a huddle of court ladies on the far side of the room and gaily joins in their chatter, her smile wide if forced.

She looks around for Olaf, ready to activate her plan, and sees him - the red-faced, bald headed man crossing the room towards her. On her other side, Morgana notices with surprise that Merlin is doing the same thing, an alarmed expression on his pretty face as he tries desperately to reach her in the throng.

"Morgana!" he mouths at her, beckoning with his free hand.

She pretends casual disinterest in the ladies' conversation, sauntering away from them and putting distance between herself and an ever advancing Olaf. Her heart is thudding rapidly in her chest and she knows something must have gone wrong: today was supposed to be easy. Annoy Olaf, send him away, a rest before the defeat of Cenred tomorrow, but something's happened, she can see it in Merlin's eyes. Reaching him, she tugs at the twisted fabric at his wrist, all but dragging him to a secluded corner of the hall, behind one of the tall pillars.

"What's wrong?" she asks urgently.

For a moment Merlin can only shake his head. He doesn't want to tell her about her guardian's betrayal. With growing alarm, Morgana notes that his eyes are damp and red. "Tell me what's wrong!" she demands, frightened.

He leans closer to her, making sure she'll hear him under the obnoxious laughter of the crowd. "I was standing near Uther and Cenred. Forget Olaf, he doesn't matter anymore. Cenred's made an offer for you...and Uther...Uther's accepted."

Morgana can only gape at him in astonishment and terror. Their plan wasn't supposed to go like this, everything is out of order, it's chaos, it's wrong. "What happened?" she demands, needing to know everything that's been said.

Merlin nods, acknowledging her need. "Cenred came up to Uther right as everyone was coming in. He asked to speak with him alone. Uther's already had a lot to drink, I don't know if that helped or hindered. Anyway, Uther told him no, they needed to stay in the banquet hall because he wanted to make sure that you came in soon. Cenred said fine. He pulled Uther aside so no one could hear what was said. I was worried so I came closer, nobody notices servants. Cenred said something, I couldn't hear what, something about an advantageous alliance, and Uther agreed. Then Uther said something about it would be a joyous occasion and did Cenred have any plans at making an offer, he was sort of hinting."

Merlins stops to draw breath, but Morgana gestures urgently for him to continue.

"Anyway, Cenred said yes, actually he'd like to make an offer right then. Uther looked really pleased, sort of clapped him on the back and said he was a true friend of Camelot. They talked a bit about your dowry, I think. Then Uther took off one of his rings and gave it to Cenred, like he was sealing the deal or something. And that's when I left to find you."

Morgana looks at him in horror. The sense of foreboding she'd felt had certainly been right, she'd known there was something wrong about tonight. _Something bad is going to happen_. Another shiver rolls through her and she must have gone suddenly pale, because Merlin reaches out a hand to steady her, holding her shoulder gently and locking his eyes with hers.

"Do we move the plan forward?" he asks her, biting his lip. Even in the middle of all the danger, Morgana can't help but notice the movement.

She takes a deep breath, the effect of Merlin's supportive hand doing more to unsettle than to steady her. "We'll have to," she says. Peering out from behind the pillar, she sees that Olaf's noticed her position and is rapidly advancing on her. She doesn't have time for him, but he's reached her before she can create a distraction.

"My lady," he smiles widely, reaching for her hand and touching his chilled lips to her fingers. Merlin fades gently into the background, and she hopes he doesn't go too far. Olaf she can handle on her own; Cenred she can't.

"King Olaf," she smiles mechanically.

"I came to tell you..." he keep talking, but Morgana's not listening. She's looking around the hall, finding Uther and Cenred still laughing together. Perhaps Merlin's hands were doing more than she'd realised; she feels dizzy and faint, like she might fall over. She switches her attention back to Olaf in time to hear him say, "...leaving tomorrow."

"What?" she asks distractedly. "What was that you said?"

"My daughter, Vivian. She's ill. I'm afraid I'll be giving up my chance at your hand in order to return to her," he repeats, annoyed.

Uther is moving away from Cenred now, walking up to the head of the banqueting table. Almost as though...almost as though he's about to make an announcement. _But surely not? Surely he wouldn't announce her betrothal before even telling her?_

"Can you hear me? My lady?" snaps Olaf, losing his temper finally.

"Yes, how is your daughter Alice?" Morgana replies vaguely, "Sorry, I must leave you, the king..." A deep frown marrs Olaf's forehead and he flings his hands into the air in distraction, shoving away from her through the crowd. Morgana turns hurriedly and plots the quickest way through the furror, weaving through the pillars and behind the King's chair. As she begins to walk, Uther claps his hands.

"Everybody! Thank you for joining us today!" he begins.

Morgana walks faster, everything seems to be spinning, sounds and faces blurring as she almost runs in her haste to get to the front of the crowd. She's so dizzy, her legs beginning to shake, and where in the name of God has Merlin gone?

"Morgana! Child, where are you?" Uther calls, looking around the room puzzled, before seeing her emerge from behind the pillar, taking her place at his left hand side. Arthur shoots her a look she can't interpret, probably trying to warn her about what's going to happen.

"I'm here, my lord," Morgana says, an undercurrent of danger rippling through her polite words. He places a heavy hand on her shoulder and smiles down at her unresponsive face. "Good. Because what I'm about to say pertains, most of all, to you."

Morgana lifts a hand, trying to stop him but he doesn't notice. "I'm sure," Uther continues, "That you will all join us in celebrating the joy of today's happy event. For the Lady Morgana is to be married -"

Everything is so blurred. Morgana can't focus, she can't remember what she's supposed to do. Spinning, everything spinning, and she's so light headed, like she might fall over. She hears Arthur warn, "Father - Morgana," but she's not listening to him. She looking through the crowd for the one face she needs to see but he's not there, he's not anywhere.

Uther's not listening to Arthur either. "For the Lady Morgana is to be married to King Cenred of Essetir!" The crowd begins to clap, happy and unsurprised expressions on the faces of the courtiers. Morgana lifts a distressed hand to her head, twisting her neck to find some escape route but there's nowhere. Then out of the crowd, one face emerges.

"Tell him," Merlin mouths at her, looking straight at her from his position at the front of the crowd. She shakes her head, feeling suddenly without words. Language has dropped away. He looks at her desperately and reaches out a hand as though he might touch her. Breaking with caution, he calls to her above the crowd's noise, "Tell him, Morgana."

And everything clarifies.

Suddenly strong, Morgana lifts her head. In regal, ringing tones which no one in the large room could possibly have missed she calls, "I will not marry Cenred. I can't. I love someone else."

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

"Morgana," Uther growls out a warning, the pressure of his hands on her body increasing as he spins her to face him.

"We can talk about it later, don't make a scene, Morgana," she hears Arthur say through gritted teeth, and she glares at him with fire flashing through her eyes.

"Oh, so the king's betrothed me without my knowledge and I'm the one making a scene? Thanks for your support," she bites at him, not bothering to lower her voice one bit.

"This is a good alliance, you will not ruin it with your childish infatuations," Uther tells her, the flame of his anger boiling below the surface. Morgana shakes her head and turns back to the crowd.

"I won't marry Cenred," she says clearly. "I will not. Because I. Love. Merlin."

Arthur looks like he should have known this was coming, but is still incredibly depressed by their idiocy.

Morgana looks desperately for Merlin and he doesn't disappoint her; he steps forward, sending her a reassuring, bright smile. Morgana clears her throat and looks steadfastly back at the king. She didn't think she had the words for this, but now that it's time she finds she does; and she wants everyone to hear them, no confusion, the people need to know what she wants, too.

"I love Merlin. He's been kind to me when no one else has. He makes me happy and safe and he cares for me. I've loved him since I met him, and I didn't know at first, but now I do. I love him, I love him, and I am not going to marry King Cenred of Essetir."

The words are simple, but they are enough.

Uther looks apoplectic with rage. "What have you got to say for yourself?" he barks at Merlin.

Morgana wants to protect him, to tell him it's over, that he can run, get away before Uther hurts him. But Merlin steps forward and gives a polite bow to the king. Then he does something so completely outrageous in its utter innocence that it nearly makes Morgana break down crying: he takes her hand, and he holds it.

From the corner of his eye, Merlin can see Arthur bury his face in his hands, and he's quite sure Gauis is doing exactly the same thing somewhere on the other side of the hall. But it doesn't matter, because he needs to say this. He's needed to say this for a long time, even if it's not real. "I love your ward. I love Morgana with all of my heart and all of my soul and I have since the first time I saw her. Please, you can't marry her to Cenred. He doesn't love her, not like I do."

Merlin gives Morgana's hand a reassuring squeeze, hoping his simple words are enough, and once more Morgana feels tears at the back of her eyes. She wants more than anything else to believe that his words are real, that he means them. But she can't let herself. Morgana still doesn't think she deserves to be loved.

"Arrest the boy," Uther calls to the guards and Morgana knows what's going to happen next, and she knows she cannot let it. This battle's not won yet.

"No," she says, drawing strength from Merlin's hand and the soft bump of his shoulder against hers. "No, you took my father from me, he died in your stupid wars. You took my mother, she died of grief at his death, you took the child I would have saved you tore him from my arms and now you think to take my freedom with this betrothal. So no. You cannot take Merlin away from me." She holds tight to him, and they stand in the centre of the hall. Defiant, and together.

"No, no-" Morgana is still resisting as the guards rend their bodies asunder, shoving Merlin away from her. She reaches for him and he looks back at her, over his shoulder. Gives her a tiny, sweet smile as he is marched away. She follows them, her skirts trailing as she reaches out, and before Uther can quite reach her she gets to him. Merlin looks straight into her bright green eyes and says the most honest thing he's ever said in his life.

"I love you," he says and he has time to brush his lips against her pleading ones, just before he's taken away.

Uther's hands on Morgana's shoulders hold no pretence of care anymore. "Everybody out!" he yells, face bordering on purple. "Get out, leave us!"

He turns her, gripping her wrists in front of her chest in tight, bruising hands, breathing hard. The crowd gives a jump, dispersing hurriedly. All except for Cenred, who is the last to leave the room, whistling unconcernedly. He gives Morgana a wink as he shuts the door.

Uther lets Morgana go and she stands where she is, head held high and for once in her life genuinely unafraid of what he could do to her. She holds Merlin's three words in her mouth like sugar underneath her tongue. It doesn't matter that they were said as an act, she still heard them and they give her courage for the coming war.

"If you hurt Merlin I will never forgive you," Morgana tells the king.

Uther clenches his hands, the violence in his voice no longer veiled. "I do not want your forgiveness. You have defied me and I told you the consequences would be severe."

"Ooh. I'm terrified. What are you going to do to me?" Morgana sasses, arms folded across her chest.

Arthur steps forward, glaring a warning at her.

"Father, they're young and in...lust, don't be too hard on them," he intervenes. He tries to put a supportive hand on Morgana's shoulder, but remembering his earlier betrayal, she pulls away.

Uther also ignores him. "I made a promise to your father that I would take care of you. This marriage is a good one, it will bring advantages to Camelot and to yourself. I've done this with your wellbeing, your future in mind and now it is your turn to do your duty to Camelot. Cenred is a strong king. He'll be a good husband."

Morgana shakes her head incredulously. "Cenred is a bully. He'll hurt me, he'll do whatever he likes with me, don't you see that? How can you say it's for my future when my only future with him is as a servant to do his will?"

When Uther doesn't respond, she tries again, pushing her pride away and making herself allow a pleading note enter her voice. "He'll force me. He'll hurt me, I know he will."

Uther turns, and the anger on his face sends fear skittering into Morgana's heart once again. "If he hurts you, then maybe you deserve it," he says.

She can't stop herself from gasping at this cruelty, looking to Arthur for his offered support. But Arthur's unable or unwilling to help her now, his head down and arms folded in resignation. "Please. Don't do this," she states, looking at the King. Once more, he refuses to engage. Morgana inhales deeply, deciding the time has come to play her trump card; the one that could win this battle, but lose her the war. "Cenred won't want me. Not once you tell him the truth," she taunts.

Uther raises a hand and wipes his pale face. "You speak in riddles, child. What is this truth you speak of?" he says heavily.

Morgana lets a smirk cross her lips. Refusing to look at Arthur, she holds Uther's gaze in hers and says, "That I'm no longer pure, my lord."

The reaction is exactly the one she'd hoped for. All colour drains from Uther's face and he is rendered momentarily speechless.

"For god's sakes," Morgana hears Arthur mutter, no doubt wondering why she would be so stupid as to say this to the king.

Uther takes a step towards her and for a moment Morgana thinks he will relent. But then his face hardens as he comes to a decision. "This...impurity you speak of. It will not leave this room, you will not speak of it again and Cenred will never know. If you tell him this, I will see to it that you are punished."

Uther looks to Arthur, "I don't trust you to do this. I will have arrangements made myself for the boy who defiled her to be executed at dawn. And you, Morgana," he is close to her now, his face right by hers, so she can smell the wine on his breath, "You will be taken to your chambers and you will not leave them until the day of your wedding."

He stops, breathing heavily. Arthur is making sounds of disagreement behind them, but Morgana can barely see his blurred form for all the clarity of Uther's closeness. Uther looks down on her, an expression close to loathing crossing his face.

"You do not just disappoint me, Morgana. You disgust me," he says, and lifting the back of his black-gloved hand he strikes her hard across the face. As the guards tug Morgana's resisting body out of the room, she closes her eyes from the sting. In her mouth, she can taste the blood that has oozed from the harsh split in her broken lip.

 **So, Morgana's under house arrest, Merlin's about to be executed, and they still don't believe the other loves them. How** ** _are_** **they going to get out of this one?**


	9. Breathing Underwater

**Disclaimer: I am not affiliated in any way with BBC, Julian Murphy, Johnny Caps, etc (sadly). I do not own the characters in Merlin, I am using them under the fair use and/or transformative works clause of copyright law and receive not profit or material privilege from my use of them.**

"You couldn't have been just a tiny bit more subtle?" grumbles Arthur, as he unlocks the door to Merlin's cell. "And you're lucky my father was too busy raging at Morgana to remember I still have the master key to the cell doors," he adds as Merlin steps gratefully out into the corridor.

"What was I supposed to do? He was going to marry her to Cenred!" Merlin argues. He winces at the bruises all over him. The guards had not been gentle.

Arthur looks grim. "He's still going to marry them." They consider this statement in grey silence.

"Well off you go, you're free now. I have to say it will be a relief to have a proper servant finally," Arthur breaks the silence and makes a shooing motion at Merlin.

Merlin says gratefully, "Thanks, Arthur. I won't forget this."

As he walks away down the passageway leading out of the dungeons, Arthur calls after him, "I don't suppose there's any point in telling you not to visit Morgana tonight, is there?"

"Probably not," agrees Merlin cheerfully, "Although I could pretend I won't if it'll make you feel better."

Arthur shakes his head, then becomes serious. "And, Merlin - I hope to see you again someday."

Merlin gives him an incredulous, irrepressible grin. "What, you didn't think I was leaving Camelot, did you? Can't get rid of me that easily. I'm not going anywhere."

As Merlin disappears into the nighttime, Arthur mutters something that sounds a lot like, "Idiots."

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Morgana sits before her wide open window, looking out and anxiously running her hands over the soft, fawn-coloured fabric of her dress. God knows how she's going to get out of this...and Merlin, what is she going to do about Merlin? She can't let him be executed. Morgana thinks that she might die, too, one way or another, if she was forced to watch his head bounce from his shoulders and land in a bloody tumble at Uther's feet. She chews on the inside skin of her cheek, distressed and exhausted.

A creak at the door makes her turn around. One of the guards in his red tunic, chain mail, and visor has entered and is standing stiffly in the doorway.

Morgana glares at him. "I haven't thrown myself out of the window yet, if that's what you came to check," she says sarcastically.

"No," the guard states the single word in a hollow yet oddly familiar voice.

"Then get out of my room," Morgana gestures, "The door's that way."

"No," says the guard again, he seems to be struggling to unclip his visor, wrenching it away but it's stuck on something. Morgana realises she can cope with no more fear. She is tired of fighting. She lifts a hand to her head. "Do what you want, then. I don't care anymore," she hisses through clenched teeth.

"No -" says the guard again, still yanking at the visor. Morgana frowns in confusion. "No, Morgana, it's me. Merlin," the visor comes off and Merlin's comforting face appears, weighted down in heavy and ill fitting chain mail.

"Thank god," Morgana stands, relief flooding her, and goes toward him helping him off with the heavy armour and chain mail. "How did you escape?"

"Arthur," Merlin, now released from the heavy, capturing armour, lets it drop to the floor and stands awkwardly in front of her in the unfamiliar tunic and trousers of the Camelot guard.

Morgana nods, a small smile rising to her lips. "He's a good man," she acknowledges grudgingly.

"He is," Merlin's expression of calm turns to concern as he looks at her and without thinking he reaches for her face, running a gentle thumb just below her torn bottom lip. "Who did this to you?" he asks her angrily.

Morgana's all but forgotten about it, the pain fading to a dull throb which sparks only when she unthinkingly bites down on it. "Uther. But it's nothing. And what happened to you? You kept wincing when I pulled off the chain mail."

Merlin shrugs. "The guards don't play gently. I'm bruised all over. But it's nothing," he echoes.

Morgana rolls her eyes at him. "Don't copy me. Come here, Gauis gave me some salve for my lip, I'll put a little on the bruises. It'll help."

"Is Gauis okay?" Merlin asks, following her and sitting obediently on the edge of the bed when she points to it.

Morgana sweeps her waved hair out of her face and unscrews the lid of the tiny wooden pot of salve, dipping two fingers into the yellow beeswax mixture. "He's fine. Worried about you. You should go and tell him you're alright."

"Later," Merlin nods. He doesn't want to leave her just yet.

"Um," Morgana swallows and looks down, "Where does it hurt?"

Merlin hesitates, then draws his hand to the sight of the largest bruise, just below his left shoulder.

"Right," Morgana waits, then prompts him with, "Um, you'll have to take your tunic off."

Merlin stops, suddenly realising with a painful drop in his stomach that he can't be here. He can't let her touch him, because he wants her to so much and it's wrong to take advantage of her friendship like that. With sickening clarity, he knows he needs to tell her the truth.

"Morgana -" he begins. "I have to tell you something."

Morgana looks at him, the expression in his eyes boding ill. She doesn't want to hear any more bad news, but she steels herself, waiting for some new blow. "What is it?"

He swallows hard, a lump in his throat stopping the words. _You have to_ , he thinks, _you have to, even though she's going to send you away_. "Um. What I said. Before, in the banquet hall, I meant that."

She looks speechless and disbelieving, so he decides to continue while he can, before she slaps him or does something equally brutal, "I love you, Morgana. I always have and I - I didn't mean to take advantage of you, I just wanted to help you but I'm sorry. I should never have let you kiss me and everything thinking I was just your friend."

He stops and looks to her for a response but she is silent. "And, um, I'll go now," Merlin turns and heads for the door. He feels his shoulders droop dejectedly and angrily warns himself not cry as his hand slides over the smooth doorknob, turning it.

"Wait!" Morgana's cry stops him and some of his abandoned hope returns to him. Her next words tumble out, quick and sincere. "Don't you dare walk away from me. I love you, Merlin. Come back or so help me I will execute you myself."

He turns, a grin cracking his face as he sees the astonished smile on hers. "You really mean that, don't you? That you love me?" she challenges, looking at him in wonder.

He nods. "And so do you."

 _He loves me_ , thinks Morgana, the joy she's had so little of lately beginning to pound in her heart. _He loves me_. They stand very still for a moment, smiling stupidly with eyes shining. _He loves me, she loves me, he loves me, she loves me, it's real and it's not over, not over, there's hope –_ their unspoken words tumble over one another, tumbling and bumping faster and faster, tangling in their minds and bringing more joy and more hope with each mental repetition. Morgana breaks the glance. "Uh, come here, sit back down. Let me put the salve on."

This time she helps him pull the blood red tunic over his head, barely stifling a soft gasp at the sight of his bare chest, the shape of which she's yearned for a glance at so many times before. Flustered, Morgana feels a blush spread over her cheeks and hastily addresses herself to the salve, spreading the pale yellow mixture over the handprint purple bruise just above Merlin's heart. Glancing up, she sees he's looking at her with an amused expression, noting her fluster. She narrows her eyes at him, and they both laugh softly. Everything between them still feels so fragile and new, this love that they both gave up hoping for so long ago. They never thought they could allow themselves to feel this, but they can, and it almost frightens them in its intensity.

"What happens next?" Merlin asks her quietly, lifting her hands gently and warming the cold skin between his palms.

Morgana thinks for a moment, of the war that's not yet over, that battle that must continue for her to be free. She thinks of planning and fighting and being strong and she cannot do it just now. She shakes her head and twists her fingers away, reversing them so his hands are clasped between hers. She lifts the rough fingers to her cheek and hears Merlin stifle his own soft gasp as his hands make contact with her face.

"Please," Morgana whispers with shining eyes, "Let's not think about tomorrow just yet. Please, let's just have tonight."

He nods. She leans forward and kisses him very softly, no more than a brush of their lips but it still sends sparks of both pain and pleasure coursing through her. He lifts his face to hers, needing more of her touch, hungry for it. They kiss again, tilted heads and breathless lungs collapsing and reviving too fast to quantify. It feels like a miracle, this love. Like they're drowning, but they're breathing.

Merlin pulls away, once again running a concerned finger under her mouth. "We shouldn't. Your lip..."

"Oh, it doesn't matter," Morgana reaches for him but he moves his head away, raising his eyebrows. Morgana smiles wryly at him, tipping her head to the side, daring him to deny her. He shakes his head, and she rolls her eyes at him again.

"Fine. There are other places you can kiss me...Come on. Be imaginative," she coaxes.

Merlin hesitates. Then he does what he's wanted to do for so very long and lays his lips against her exposed neck, kissing along the soft skin. She tastes like milk and chaos under his tongue. Morgana gasps, tilting her body against his so her half-standing form is cradled by Merlin's bent knees. Trailing her fingers along his chest, she almost cries out at the touch of his mouth against her shoulder and is gratified to hear Merlin groan softly in response to her sound.

"I need to...tell you...something," she manages, "I told...the king something...that wasn't true...a lie, I said...that I wasn't…pure anymore," she tells him, letting the words slip like liquid between her open lips.

Merlin is having trouble focusing on what she's saying, or why it's important. "Okay," he breathes into her neck. He doesn't care what she's told the king about him, it doesn't matter, the king is after his head whether or not he believes Merlin's defiled his ward.

"Merlin?" Morgana pleads and he stops at once, with effort, looking up at her with eyes darkened by desire. Her bright green irises are blackened by her dilated pupils, carrying so much trust and certainty and vulnerability that it fills him with wonder and fear.

"Merlin?" says Morgana again, "I don't like telling lies."

 **Flipping finally. It only took them nine chapters. Was the last line too subtle? I hope not. I hope you got the implications there. But now I need your kind opinions…I have a good idea of what's going to happen now (as in, how they're going to deal with the whole forced marriage thing). BUT I'm not sure whether to write in the part immediately after this scene (and risk it being disappointing because I don't usually write sex scenes) OR do a chaste fade-to-black and pick up the next morning. What do you think?**


	10. The Things We Have To Do

**Disclaimer: I am not affiliated in any way with BBC, Julian Murphy, Johnny Caps, etc (sadly). I do not own the characters in Merlin, I am using them under the fair use and/or transformative works clause of copyright law and receive no profit or material privilege from my use of them.**

 **Thanks for people's reviews! And thanks for the advice The Forrest of Fanfic – it was helpful, but in the end considering I have no reality to ground my chapters in, I was a coward and faded to black.**

 _"Are you okay?" Merlin asks her. He tastes like honey and order and all the things that make sense. Their bodies are slurs of desire, fumbles of awkward hesitancies. They are shy, desirous smiles cast at one another across bedclothes. Their bodies are flush and aching. Even in the dark-eyed desire of the moment, Morgana manages half an eye-roll. "Stop being careful and have sex with me," she says. Leaning close, she whispers with hunger and the kind of safety resultant from the fulfilment of long-wished for fantasies, "I want you to ruin me."_

 _Ruin, ruined, ruiness, ruinous. All ancient, beautiful things are ruinous._

 _Milk and honey. Order and chaos. The light and the dark. Death sentence, life sentence. The hunted, the forced. Together, intertwined in the dark shadow left behind by the absence of a moon._

Merlin wakes up the next morning before Morgana does, the early morning sunlight blinking sleepily into the room. He stretches, trying not to disrupt Morgana's sleep where she lies curled into a tight ball at his side. He feels spent and relaxed and as he remembers Morgana's words of last night he feels a grin split his face. _"I love you."_ For a night they'd been able to forget everything, and it would give them the needed strength for the next stage of the battle.

Merlin swings his legs over the side of the bed and hunts for his discarded clothes as quietly as he can; it's evidently not quiet enough because Morgana's voice makes him turn.

"What are you doing?" she asks him, stretching her legs out into the chill of the empty bed, one arm lazily pillowing her tilted head as she smiles trustingly up at him. Morgana feels relaxed and calmer than she has for a long time; if she touches herself gently, she can still feel vestiges of last night, shards of pleasure left behind in the crevices of her body.

He smiles back at her, pulls the tunic over his head, words muffled by the fabric. "I'm a wanted criminal, and being a guard is the best disguise I have. I -" he hefts the chain mail and slides it cautiously onto his chest, wincing at the bump of the heavy metal loops against his bruises. "I need to go and look for an escaped convict. There'll be a shift change in a minute, someone else will take over guarding you, but I'll find out when the next shift change is and try to take it, alright? Then we'll have to make some plans."

Morgana nods and stays where she is, watching Merlin dress. He comes over to her and she lays back, head tilted upwards as his lips brush gently against hers, almost shyly. "Maybe you should run. Go to Ealdor," Morgana says quietly as she curls back up.

"Would you come with me?" Merlin asks her. Morgana hesitates. Camelot is her home, and she's afraid she'd put Merlin in more danger - everybody would be looking for a runaway king's ward. But she would, if they had to.

"Yes," says Morgana.

Merlin thinks about this. "Uther would find us, wouldn't he?" he says finally. Morgana nods jerkily, not wanting to admit defeat, even to a plan she has not committed to.

Merlin shakes his head definitively. "I'm not running, not unless you want to. We'll fight Cenred from here, from Camelot." She nods again, more relaxed this time, and Merlin turns to go.

"Is Gwen coming in?" he asks her, hand on the doorknob. He doesn't want her to be all alone.

"No. Uther won't let her, he thinks the three of us planned this whole resistance mess." Which was, Morgana reflected, actually a completely accurate view of events. Uther could be surprisingly perceptive at times. "But I'll be fine. Just don't get yourself captured, will you, Merlin?"

"I swear."

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

The sunlight tumbling through the windows warms Morgana through and she stands in it, hugging herself and thinking. She tries to sort through the muddle of her mind, but it refuses to obey her, returning consistently to her favourite topic of all – Merlin. It is so very difficult to feel sad or unhappy when standing in a melted buttery pool of sunshine, after all.

Uther hasn't sent any maid to help her dress - through oversight or punishment, she's not sure which - so Morgana has pulled on a dress which requires no buttoning, a deep blue velvet with a comforting feel under her fingertips when she strokes it. She's attempting to distract herself by reading a novel when she hears a commotion at the door. Someone's obviously trying to get in, and the guard's not letting them.

"What's going on?" Morgana demands, striding to the door and opening it briskly. She is greeted with the unpleasant sight of Cenred's eerily smiling face. He bows hostilely when he sees her.

"My lady. I merely wished to pay you a visit, but this idiot here won't allow me in." Morgana hears a distinctive clank of coins and notices Cenred's hand depositing something inside his robes. Trying to bribe another guard.

"King's orders," the guard whines nasally. "No-one's allowed in."

Morgana makes a decision. She wants to speak to Cenred. She needs to know a little more about him to find his weaknesses so she can defeat him. They do say to keep your enemies close. "Let him come in," she orders the guard, who sighs but doesn't dare to disobey a direct order.

Cenred's smile becomes wider. "That's my good girl," he says, following her into the room and closing the door with a definitive slam.

Morgana returns the smile sickeningly sweet. "Let's make three things very clear. I'm not a girl. I'm not good. And I am not yours. Got it?"

Cenred merely laughs. "So...where's your lover boy gone to? Left you behind has he? But he _loved you so much_ ," Cenred mocks, sitting down uninvited on a chair and spreading out comfortably.

Morgana remains standing, arms folded across her chest. "Merlin is much too clever to come here," she says coolly, "He knows this is the first place they'll be looking for him. Now, what do you want?"

"What else but you?" Cenred repeats. "I brought you some news, my dear. The wedding date's set. We're to be married two days hence, isn't that exciting? Haven't you always dreamed of your wedding day, Morgana? And your wedding night? I believe a dress has been bought for you...there's talk of a fitting tomorrow."

His words are meant to antagonise but they serve only to increase Morgana's determination. Two days, they have two days to figure something out.

Cenred reclaims her attention and raises an invisible goblet. "Shall I propose a toast? To King Cenred and Queen Morgana of of Essetir!" He laughs uproariously, as though he has said something incredibly witty. As he lifts the nonexistent cup to his lips, he whispers in a voice obviously unintended to reach her ears. "Of Essetir...and Camelot."

It takes Morgana a moment to realise what he's said. "Of Essetir and Camelot?" she repeats at him. Cenred looks momentarily alarmed, and Morgana sees curiously that he's worried about her hearing that. "That's why you're here, isn't it?" she says slowly. "You want Camelot."

Cenred gives a discomforted smile that attempts to regain his earlier, casual manner. "One can always dream, my lady, of kingdoms united."

"But our marriage wouldn't unite Camelot and Essetir. Not unless..." she stops, looking at him, horrified. "Not unless the King and Arthur were both dead. That's it, isn't it? You're going to kill them and claim Camelot for yourself?"

"Don't be ridiculous." Cenred's voice has all the violence of someone who must make other people afraid to assuage his own fear. "I'm here to make an advantageous alliance and to claim you as my own."

He comes closer to her, lifting the honey coloured charm that swings on the end of her long necklace. With a flick of his wrist, he twists the thin chain so the metal clasps are cutting deep into her throat, almost choking her. Morgana gasps and tugs at his hands, but he doesn't let her go.

"Besides," he mutters, almost to himself, "Who would ever believe you? Nobody would believe the ranting of a crazy woman."

He lets her go so suddenly that she stumbles forward, regaining herself just before she tumbles to her knees. She stands up in time to see Cenred's long, black cloak disappear behind the loudly slammed door.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Morgana is frantically pacing the room, a long sliver of parchment in hand, when Merlin arrives back late that afternoon. She glances up as he comes in, her heart speeding up. The stomach flipping reaction that always affects her around Merlin is still there, despite last night's declaration and activities, she notices. It's a significantly more pleasant symptom now she knows her crush is reciprocated.

She stops pacing for a moment and comes over to him, kissing him tentatively on the lips. "How are you?" Merlin asks her sweetly.

"Alright. Sit down, there's food I've left for you and I need to tell you what I've found out about Cenred." As Merlin gulps hungrily at the coarse barley bread and slices of chicken, Morgana fills him in on Cenred's earlier visit.

"So he's going to kill Arthur? And the king? We need to warn them," says Merlin, standing urgently as Morgana finishes her account.

Morgana shakes her head. "He won't do anything until after the wedding. I should have thought of this before, I don't know why I didn't. I'm Uther's closest living relative, apart from Arthur - we're related on my father's side. So if he and Arthur both died, I'd inherit Camelot. But, when I'm married, everything I own goes to my husband automatically - including my claim to the throne. If Cenred marries me, he has a claim to the throne, but only if and after he marries me."

She pauses and they both allow the implications of the statement to sink in. "We have two days," finishes Morgana. Merlin stands up and begins to pace the room. Morgana joins him anxiously, and for a while the only sound that can be heard is their joint footsteps clattering on the stone floor.

"We're going to have to kill Cenred, aren't we?" says Merlin eventually.

Morgana nods, catching his gaze in hers in the fast darkening room. "I think it's our only option. We can't convince him not to marry me, because he doesn't want me at all, just my claim to the throne."

Merlin concurs. "So, I'll go into his room tonight and what, stab him? Poison him?"

"Poison is a coward's tool. If we have any honour, he'll be awake and fully alert when he dies. Besides, you're not going to kill him, I am," Morgana disagrees vehemently.

"No, you're not, I am," says Merlin firmly.

"No."

"Yes."

Morgana frowns at Merlin. "It's my freedom, my life, and my claim to the throne he wants to take, and it's my foster family he's threatening in order to do that."

Merlin is sidetracked by the statement. "Morgana...do you even want to protect Uther? Think about what he's done to you, marrying you like this without your consent. Has he even come to see you since imprisoning you here?" Merlin is curious about her response, wondering why she is so keen to protect the man she seems to hate.

"I've been thinking about it all afternoon, really I have," Morgana sighs, "But whatever he's done, Uther doesn't deserve to have his life taken from him: that's what he was trying to do to me, and it hurts. He has been kind to me, Merlin, we can't let him die. My father would never have forgiven me if I allowed that."

"Okay. Of course. I mean, that makes sense. But wait, you don't think Uther should have his life taken from him, but it's alright to take Cenred's? How does that work?" Merlin is genuinely interested in her reasoning, even in the knowledge that he would have said exactly the same thing, if asked.

Morgana breaks the heaviness of the topic by telling Merlin, "Merlin, I said I had nobility, I didn't say I was a saint. Besides - my loyalties lie with Camelot, not Essetir."

Merlin lets a smile play at his lips. "Fair enough. But, Morgana, if you kill Cenred everybody will think it's just to get out of marrying him. Your head could end up on the block next to mine."

Morgana shudders, "Don't even say that. Neither of us are going to be executed. You're right - we have to make people understand that he was a danger to us, to Camelot. We have to make people see that his plan is to hurt, not to marry."

"Good, yes...um, how do we do that? Nobody's going to believe us, are they?" Merlin puts on a mock official voice and waves a hand to an imaginary audience. "Hello. I'm the escaped prisoner everybody's searching for and this is my girlfriend. Yep, well spotted, she is the same woman who was yelling at the king in the banquet hall two days ago. We'd like you to know that the well-respected king over in that corner is going to kill people using some unknown method at a time we're not sure of." He sighs. "We're not going to convince anybody, except maybe Arthur and Gwen."

Morgana is laughing. "You're being silly, stop it," she scolds him. "You are right though. So does that mean we need to wait until everybody can see him threaten Arthur or Uther?"

Merlin winces, "That would be risky." They both sigh aloud and continue to pace, stepping repetitively in and out of the shadows which fall along the floor.

"Maybe we need to use another type of danger?" Morgana ventures.

"How do you mean?"

"We could fabricate the danger, pretend I was killing him in self defence. It would need to be after the wedding so no one could say I did it to get out of marrying him, but before the next day because then he'll have the chance to kill Arthur or the King. The wedding night would be our window of opportunity, I suppose."

"Okay, that could work. What if we pretended he was trying to...force you? That's why you killed him?"

Morgana bites her lip, her next statement feeling heavy and wrong on her lips. "I think what you don't understand is that most husbands force their wives to the marriage bed. That's what the court expects Cenred to do, and nobody will think I had any right to defend myself against that. I'll be as vilified as if I had killed him without cause."

Merlin looks vaguely horrified. "That's awful."

"It's what happens." Tap, tap, tap go their feet on the floor in the darkness.

"Is attempted murder also an expected part of marriage?" Merlin asks finally, half serious.

"Well, let's just say people tend to blame the woman if she gets killed. But I'm the king's ward, an attempt on my life would be a perfectly reasonable cause for self defence. There's still the same problem, though, nobody will believe me, nobody else will have seen this fictious attempted murder."

"I'll be your witness," says Merlin loyally and firmly, "On your wedding night, I'll come and wait outside the door -"

"Get off on listening, do you?" she interjects cheekily.

Merlin rolls his eyes. "You need to watch it," he sauces, feeling a secret thrill at his brand new ability to say things like this without shame or reprisal. He clears his throat and continues, "You kill him, then, I don't know, you scream or something. I'll come in and pretend I saw the whole thing."

The plan begins to come together in their minds and their frantic pacing slows.

"Arthur sleeps on the same floor as me," says Morgana, "He'll be there first, we'll tell him what 'happened,' we can explain the truth later. But he'll believe us, and he'll be a more reliable witness than you. And then you run, and you run fast. I want you to leave Camelot after that, go home for a bit. When I've convinced Uther to stop hunting you, you can come back."

"And we can be together?" Merlin asks softly, a question in his voice. He takes her hands, the shadowed crevices and corners of their intertwined knuckles looking like a mountain range. High and complex and completely natural.

"One way or another," Morgana replies. "We'll find a way."

They sleep curled tight under heavy blankets, keeping out the cold. Morgana breathes in Merlin's scent, not wanting to think about the wedding that must be endured if their plan is to work. They stay that way until the shift change.


	11. Till Death Do Us Part

**Disclaimer: I am not affiliated in any way with BBC, Julian Murphy, Johnny Caps, etc (sadly). I do not own the characters in Merlin, I am using them under the fair use and/or transformative works clause of copyright law and receive no profit or material privilege from my use of them.**

 **I promise lots of drama in this chapter. MAJOR trigger warning for attempted rape, dissociation and also murder (separately). Also this chapter is just generally extremely dark, I swear the story will become sweet and happy again, I promise. And yes, I know the wedding vows are historically innacurate, but google searching was quicker than going back and re-watching the episode where Uther remarries. Enjoy!**

 _The smell of her mother's hair, thick and dark. Like rare orange peels and cinnamon, like the salty sea that always swam in her mother's eyes._

 _Her father's hands, the firm movements as he showed her how to fasten his armour. His long fingers stroking down a horse's man, gentle and certain._

 _Arthur's defeated face as she won yet another of their little sword battles. Her own, in the mirror afterwards, dirt streaked and triumphant._

 _The soft velvet of her blue dress underneath her fingertips, the warm, comforting wool of her favourite winter shawl._

 _Gwen's arms tight around her, holding. The maid's face as she'd arrived, red cloaked and secretive at Morgana's door last night. Just checking that she was alright._

 _Merlin. His lips under hers. His smile and the bright blue eyes that seemed to see all of her soul and her heart. His hands sliding down her body, the feel of him under her fingertips. His breath, warm on her neck when she'd woken in the night. His soft, soothing presence as she cried out after yet another nightmare. The way he'd held her close that morning before they'd parted, running his hands down her hips and along her shoulders, anchoring her, grounding her in love and safety._

Morgana breathes shakily and tries to fasten her mind on all of these good things. She clenches her fists so tight the knuckles shine white as her veil, and attempts to be mistress of her jelly-like legs. Her wedding dress is stunning crimson, with hasty gold embroidery tacked along the hem to give the appearance of richness in as little time as possible. Her white veil contrasts starkly with the blood coloured fabric, and Morgana's face is pale and peaked beneath her high, layered ebony hair.

At the end of the aisle is Cenred. He appears to have washed his own hair for the occasion, as it looks damp rather than greasy. As Morgana glides closer to him, she can smell overly strong pomade and the scent of ivy leaves wafting from him in waves. She is nauseated at the fact that she must bind herself to this man.

 _But it's the only way_ , she reminds herself, unobtrusively touching the dagger sewn into her waistline, _the only way to save Arthur and the King without sacrificing my own life entirely._ It's hard to remember. This certainly feels like a sacrifice in itself.

As her hands touch his, he sends her a wink and a smile which is unsettlingly sure of itself, like he's not even concerned about what she overheard two days ago. Morgana longs to tug her hands out of his grip, but instead she steadies herself and even forces herself to smile back. _Be strong, Morgana. Be strong_.

As the elderly court genographer and jack-of-all-trades, Geoffrey of Monmouth, reads aloud the wedding vows in a drone, Morgana does not allow her mind to wander. She wants to hear every word, every single syllable that binds her to this man and god help her, she will refute them all as soon as she can.

"I take you, Morgana Pendragon, to be my wife..." Cenred drones greedily, as the thin, green ropes that will tie their wrists together begin to be twisted about them.

"Until death do us part," finishes Cenred, and Morgana draws strength from this. _Until death, not forever. Until death._

She presses the requisite words from between tight lips that still bear the imprint of Uther's gloved hand. As she speaks, Morgana feels her fear leave her, replaced by reckless anger and a nausea that nearly forces her to bend at the waist. The thin vines about her wrists feel like an imprisonment.

"I will love and honour you all the days of my life," Morgana ends hollowly.

"I do," says Cenred.

"I do," whispers Morgana, not daring to look around her, knowing that a glimpse of Arthur's sympathetic countenance or Uther's smug one will tip her from this barely controlled woman into a screaming clutter of rage and betrayal.

These are things she doesn't want to remember: but she won't be able to forget the taste of his lips crushed against hers.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Merlin kneels high up above the Throne Room, hidden by the balustrade and shadowed by the pillar above him.

Looking down, he sees Morgana's tight face and the bright colours of her gown. He wonders briefly if the dress is meant to be some sort of punishment, some sort of branding or humiliation of her as a scarlet woman, but rejects this idea on the basis that Uther is unlikely to be this subtle or conniving. If Morgana had not looked so ill, the dress would have shown her off to perfection, contrasting prettily against her black hair.

Merlin searches the crowd again. Gauis looks caught between disapproval at Morgana's unwell appearance, and celebration out of loyalty to the Pendragons and the alliance the match will bring them. Merlin feels sorry for the old man who is so like a father to him; he promises himself that as soon as this whole execution-forced-marriage-daily-terror-of-death thing is over, he'll do something nice to apologise for making Gaius so worried. Maybe cook him a meal, or clean his leech tank (Okay, so maybe not the leech tank. Merlin has to draw a line somewhere).

Arthur is clapping as heartily as anyone else, but Merlin detects sympathy for Morgana's plight in his expression. It contrasts heavily with the smug satisfaction on Uther's joyous visage.

As Cenred forces his lips against Morgana's, Merlin sees her glance upwards. He moves slightly out of the shadows and lifts his hand in a cautious wave, but she doesn't seem to notice him.

Merlin is quite sure that despite all the celebrating courtiers in the Throne Room, he is the only person who is allowed to see the tears standing in Morgana's empty green eyes.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

These are the things she remembers, if she plays it in her mind in tiny flashbacks manageable only in small portions:

Uther's suffocating hug as he assured her that all was forgiven; as he congratulated her on doing her duty to Camelot, on her marriage, on her pretty dress. The way he refused to look at her lip, the tiny scar that mended the split.

Arthur's awkward congratulations, and the tired smile she gave to him like a gift as she held back tears at the memory of what her face had once been, in all its dirt streaked triumphant glory.

The small bottle of sleeping draught (golden glass and purple flecked liquid) Gauis had slipped her with a sympathetic nod, knowing somehow that she'd need to sleep long and deeply and without dreams all the rest of that shortened night.

The flicker-flame-sharp of the steel beneath her bodice; how she'd touched it over and over again to reassure herself of her own escape route. _Hand on the doorknob, find a way out_.

Cenred's face getting gradually more ruddy as he drank and drank at the banquet, his arm flung around her waist, squeezing her into the shape of him. His fingers slick with meat grease, the shine they left on her dress.

Her, slipping silently from the hall, and kneeling outside on the flagstones, a private retching of nothing again and again and again, sting of bile high in her throat. The way she'd forced her head back up, put a sparkle in her eye and walked back into the banquet hall with a swagger. _She is Morgana Pendragon and nobody is going to break her_.

Now she sits beside Cenred at the dark wood round table in his guest chamber. He is still drinking, and Morgana periodically raises a goblet to her mouth, allowing the bitter liquid to slosh against her closed lips. She wants to encourage him to keep drinking as long as possible, wants his reactions to be sloppy and unformed to give her the best chance possible when she finally lifts her dagger and ends his life.

Cenred is talking as he drinks, inane, slurred nonsense about his kingdom and his conquests that Morgana pays only half an ear to. She feels odd, as though her body is not really there at all, as though she is somewhere above. Watching. She is not there when he stands up, not there as his goblet falls to floor, spilling ruby red wine that trickles in long strands away down the stone. She is not there when he reaches for her, yanking her body flush with his.

"I'm not the reason you're here, am I?" Morgana asks him, head at his shoulders.

She breathes a sigh of relief at his reply which confirms all of her and Merlin's suspicions. "Itsh not that you're not bee-yoo-ti-ful Mogonna," he slurs, the drink taking its toll though sadly not his brutality. "I don't need to tell you that I can't wait to get you into my bed."

His laughter smells like ferment.

"But you know, there are people other than you in thish world. I want," he staggers against her, gripping her wrists with cruel strength despite his inebriation. "I want Camelot. And now, as shoon as Arthur'sh dead I can kill the king and we'll ruule together. Don't you want to be queen of Camelot, my love?"

"I'm fascinated. How are you going to kill them?" Morgana asks, playing her advantage as long as she can.

He laughs again. "Arthur'sh going to be eashy, Moganna...a dribble of poison in the cup of hish, simple...nothing I haven't done before. And would Uther care if he lived, if his shon wash dead? An arrow, a dagger, poishion...whatever I feel like. And my right hand woman, you're going to help me." He yanks a handful of her hair, forcing her head up. "Aren't you, pretty girl?"

Morgana braces herself but is unable to hold back the overwhelming mixture of panic and disgust as his lips descend on hers, his tongue pushing violently between her lips. His wide hands rip at the bodice of her gown and the pretty red fabric falls to the ground, leaving her in her shift, dagger clutched in a single, trembling hand. She's watching herself, and it makes her scared. The way he paws at her, groping her breasts and pushing at the fabric shift, his fingers between her legs.

She cannot move.

She is not there.

His greedy mouth consuming hers.

 _The milk is all spoiled in its jug; the honey has crystal at the edges and it tastes like rot. The chaos has become uncontrollable. They are the hunter and the prey, twisted punishingly together underneath the darkened sky._

"No," says Morgana and she pushes at his chest with all of her strength, feeling her magic welling like fire inside her and she longs to let it out but that's not what she needs to do now; she needs to use the knife.

He lunges for her, his panting tongue protruding from his lips. He is no longer playing a game. He wants her, and now.

"No," says Morgana again. "No, no, no. You want to kill my foster brother, you want to kill my guardian. You want to hurt me. And I can't let you do that." She looks directly into his eyes and watches them widen as for the first time he notices the cruelly sharp dagger in her hand.

Morgana smiles as she slides it between his unsuspecting ribs.

Cenred's head tips forward, astonishment evident on his face. He keels to his knees, a shocked hand reaching for his own stomach. The light in his wide eyes dims and he clutches at her legs, dropping finally to the blood-covered ground at her feet. He twitches, then is still.

Morgana feels triumphant as she watches her hands draw the knife out of him. She is proud of this girl who has killed a king, and the pride would have scared her if the adrenaline hadn't been clouding her responses. Morgana lifts the knife again, pushing away the ripped chemise and exposing her left breast. Right above her heart, she draws a long line downwards that is deeper than she'd meant it to be. The blood wells and drips, staining the white tatters of the dress; it should hurt, but she cannot feel a thing. Morgana watches herself bend down, all feeling gone from her blankened mind as she wraps Cenred's still-limp fingers around the dagger and positions it in his own stomach.

 _What's the next step? That's right. Scream._

Someone using the mouth Morgana no longer knows as her own begins to scream and scream.

Outside the door, Merlin has been pacing anxiously, listening for sounds of distress, but the doors are thick and heavy and nothing can be heard. Nothing until that heart-rending scream. He knows the plan, but it still scares him as he breaks through the door and looks at Morgana, blood soaking the front of her shift, standing with her mouth wide open above the still, blood-sticky form of Cenred.

She looks wild and terrified and he reaches for her instinctively, shoving off his jacket and wrapping it around her quaking form as her wide open, empty eyes seem to continue the scream that no longer pours from her mouth.

He doesn't understand her words when she speaks. "I'm not here," she says, "I don't know where I am."

Before he has time to respond to this confusing statement, Arthur bursts through the open door exactly as they'd predicted, sword drawn. 'What the _fuck_ is happening?" he directs at Merlin, who lets go of Morgana and walks towards Arthur.

"I saw it all," he pleads with Arthur to believe him, "I came to check if Morgana was alright. I thought we could run away together. He tried -"

Morgana interrupts, baring her breast with its long slash mark that makes Arthur's eyes widen. "He tried to kill me. He said, he said, he wanted my claim to the throne, not me. He wanted Camelot and he was going to kill to get it."

"I saw it all," Merlin's blue eyes are sincere, "She turned the knife back on him and it was an accident."

Arthur lowers the sword with a slow nod. He looks like he has aged significantly since entering the room. "Alright. I'll look after her now, Merlin, you need to get out of here. I'm not breaking you out of those cells a second time, the guards'll be here any minute."

Merlin looks back at Morgana's wide eyes that hold a terrifying triumph and the body dripping with bodily fluids. "I can't leave her, Arthur," he says quietly. "Let me take her back to her room and get her cleaned up."

Arthur lifts a hand to his face. "Fine. _Fine._ I'll tell everyone she's with her maid and that you ran in the opposite direction. Make sure she's okay, and then run. Get out of here." He reaches for Morgana, touching her shrinking shoulder lightly with his fingers. "I'm sorry, Morgana. Merlin will look after you."

He disappears back out the door to face to descending guards and Merlin wraps an arm around Morgana's shoulders, tugging her out of the room. Their feet patter anxiously on the floor as he guides her to the closest bathroom, a large tub which still steams from someone else's unused bathwater on the floor. He lets go of her and she stands very still, staring at him with those eyes that are so terrifyingly wide.

"I killed him," she says, "And I liked it. You should have seen the moment when the light went out of his eyes, it was like a miracle," her words are manic and they frighten him.

"Here," he avoids penetrating gaze and gently removes the tattered remnants of her chemise from her. "Get in the bath, I want you to warm up."

She looks helplessly from her naked form to the tub, as though manouvering herself into it is a complex task she feels incapable of. "I can't. I'm not here. This body doesn't belong to me," she states blankly. "I can't get into the bath, Merlin. _I'm not inside this body_."

Merlin is feeling really alarmed by now. He should never have allowed her to be the one to kill Cenred, he curses himself, and quite honestly neither of them have time for a mental breakdown right this minute.

"Okay, I'll help you," he says patiently. He has to quite literally lift her shaking legs and help her step over the rim of the basin, blood beginning to swirl in the water the moment her feet hit it. He pushes gently at her shoulders and she squats helplessly, touching the cloth hanging over the side with helpless fingers.

So he does it for her, dipping the cloth in the steaming water and squeezing it out over her, his hands smoothing away all the blood until she is clean. For a long few minutes, the only sound is the slosh of water and the slow drip and slap of soaked fabric. Merlin pulls away, wondering why she's not flinching as the water invades the deep cut on her chest, but she doesn't appear to pay it any heed.

"You're clean now. Do you feel a bit better?" he asks her, aware suddenly that their time is almost up. Surely soon somebody will go to check on the lady Morgana? He finds a towel in the high cupboard in a corner of the room and helps her get out, wrapping her shivering body inside the warm softness. Her eyes have calmed slightly, which reassures him.

A shove at the door makes them both jump, Morgana emitting an instinctive scream. The guard are here. Morgana looks like a forlorn figure, standing in the middle of the room with wet hair and torn skin, but the strength has returned to her voice as she looks at Merlin.

"Run," she tells him, "Run fast."

And with one final, desperate look back at her, Merlin pushes past the yelling guard, and runs.


	12. The Cutting Scythe

**Disclaimer: I am not affiliated in any way with BBC, Julian Murphy, Johnny Caps, etc (sadly). I do not own the characters in Merlin, I am using them under the fair use and/or transformative works clause of copyright law and receive no profit or material privilege from my use of them.**

Merlin's heart has never beat faster in his life, he thinks as he runs away down the long corridor, stumbling around a corner and bursting with relief into the back courtyard near the stables. The blood rush in his ears obliterates all other sound except for the harsh slap-slap-slap of his feet flogging the ground as he runs.

The image of Morgana's wide eyes with that terrifying mixture of fright and gladness has burned itself into his brain. Merlin can't stop wishing he hadn't left her behind, even as he gasps desperately for the last dregs of oxygen in his chest as he races the guards down to the city gates.

At the appearance of yet more yelling, sharp-sword soldiers Merlin chokes out a spell, flinging a pile of logs outwards at the men, knocking several off their feet. Everything seems hysterical and slow, like he's moving through molasses and can't get anywhere, no matter how desperately he pumps his legs. The slap of his feet sounds like a warning as the ringing in his ears gets louder.

He's nearly there, nearly at the gates.

And then he stumbles, and falls. He tries to scramble to his feet, but there's something sharp and angry at the back of his neck.

"Halt," orders the nasal voice of Camelot's guard. "Stand up slowly and turn around."

 _The cow has kicked over the milk bucket and all the pretty milk is spilled; the bear has found the beehive. Order was always chaos. The hunted, the hunter, the forced and the force. Death sentence and executioner._

 _The dark moon spells despair._

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

"Father, this is madness," Arthur Pendragon stands in the throne room before the king, gesticulating wildly in protest. "I understand you're angry with Merlin for falling in love with Morgana, but it's hardly fair to kill him for that!"

"He defiled her." Uther's voice is harsh and final and he does not look at his son. The early morning light spilling into the high-windowed room is strangely at odds with the words being spoken. "And for that he will die."

Arthur sighs and begins to pace the room. "Look, surely after what Morgana's just been through, this isn't the time to kill someone she cares for? Her husband tried to kill her for gods' sakes, she needs calm and rest, not an execution."

"I'm not planning on telling Morgana," Uther turns to face his son. "Arthur, if you know what is good for you, you will forget this whole situation. The boy will die, Morgana will have time to heal before we find her a new husband, you'll get a new manservant."

"But, Father -"

Uther reaches breaking point. "I don't have time for this Arthur!" he warns, "Cenred's second in command, Ulfric, hasn't been seen since Cenred's death. He may still be planning an attack on you, me, or Morgana. I do not have the time or the inclination to show mercy to the servant who seduced my ward."

Arthur nods in submission. "Yes, Father," he says, leaving the room. He knows just who will be able to help him save Merlin: Guinevere.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Morgana is sitting by the window of her bedchamber, becoming increasingly frantic as preparations for an execution continue in the square below. Last night, after the murder, Gaius had visited her and administered a sleeping draught; Morgana cannot really remember falling asleep, but she knows that she woke early this morning with a single, desperate question in her mind: had Merlin escaped?

Although she does not know for certain if the preparations below are for him, she feels sure they are. Terror and foreboding twist in her stomach as curls her hair anxiously around a finger. Standing, Morgana attempts once again to leave her room, but, as in her other attempts that morning, the door is barred. She slaps the heals of her hands against the heavy wood and cries out in frustration.

Nobody, not even Gaius or Arthur, has come to see her this morning. Is she to be imprisoned here forever as a murderess, do none of them believe her story? The gripping fear that she is next destined for the executioner's scythe curls into her stomach and stirs with the other fears. Morgana flies to the window and considers trying to climb out, but it's three stories up and she would clearly fall to her death.

 _I'll save that bit for after Merlin's execution_ , Morgana thinks with macabre relief.

Returning to the door, Morgana pushes the slim, hard covered novel she'd been perusing the other day into the gap between the wall and the hinges, trying to lever the door open. She sits on the floor and pushes against the hard wood with her back, then turns and kicks at it angrily but it is stuck fast.

Thinking hard, Morgana returns to the window and glances out idly. What she sees makes her heart drop so fast she has to grasp onto the window ledge for support. If she could have looked in a mirror, she would have seen a ghost.

Merlin, hands tied behind his back and head dropped, is being shoved towards the executioner's block.

"Merlin!" Morgana screams at him through the open window. Several heads turn, including Uther's, high on the balcony above the stage, but Merlin does not look up. The guard shoves him roughly to his knees and Merlin obeys, dropping down before the block. The executioner, black masked with his heavy, sickle shaped axe, climbs onto the stage.

"MERLIN!" Morgana screams again hysterically. And then he does look up. But not at her. And he's...smiling? Oh, the infuriating man, trying be noble and die with honour. It's just like him. She makes to shout out again, but is stopped by Merlin's clear voice carrying across the square.

"My lord," he states, "I hope for your sake, that one day you will learn to stop hating." And then he bows his head, laying it on the rough, wooden square before him.

Looking into the crowd, Morgana sees Gaius, a solitary, hunched figure not bothering to hide his tears. She will not give up like that, she cannot. "Mer-" Morgana begins, intending to find within her some magic that she can control enough to stop this madness, somehow.

But she is stopped, because the executioner lifts his axe. And lets it fall.

 **So, how much do you hate me for that ending? I promise it's not the end of the story…just the chapter. But can Merlin survive? You'll just have to wait and see…**


	13. Give Us A Little Love

**Disclaimer: I am not affiliated in any way with BBC, Julian Murphy, Johnny Caps, etc (sadly). I do not own the characters in Merlin, I am using them under the fair use and/or transformative works clause of copyright law and receive no profit or material privilege from my use of them.**

 **GUYS.** ** _This is the last chapter_** **. I'm kinda sad that it's over because I've had so much fun writing this story…anyway, please review and tell me what you think of the ending! Also, ff net's telling me I've got more reviews but is frustratingly not allowing me to read them, so if you gave me feedback and I haven't incorporated it, I'm sorry, and that's why. Enjoy!**

Merlin feels sick as the heavy, rough hands of the guards shove his tied up body along the gap in the crowds, all the way to the hastily constructed stage with it's wooden block, still covered in sawdust. The day is warm and sunny, and Merlin feels a moment of gratitude that his last day in the world will at least not be raining.

He tries not to look up: one particularly vicious guard has already smacked his head against the castle wall for doing just that, and his ears still ring from the slap of it.

Merlin is trying to find a spell in his muddled brain, some magic that will stop this madness, but everything inside his head is a mess and he knows with nauseating foreboding that all the spells have momentarily disappeared. He can't think, there's nothing in his head. Merlin realises that he knows what Morgana meant when she'd said " _I'm not inside this body_." He doesn't feel like he's here at all.

Morgana...

Where is she? He prays to every god he has ever heard of that she is somewhere deep inside the castle, perhaps with Gwen. Her bedroom window looks out on the square and if he has one final wish before dying, it's that she doesn't have to watch this.

His wish is not granted. As he numbly approaches the stage, Merlin hears Morgana's voice scream his name, once and then again. His heart drops to the pit of his stomach but he doesn't want to look up, doesn't want her to see the tears in his eyes.

Merlin kneels before the block, arms painfully twisted behind him. _Don't cry, dammit_. He just wants to see his mother once before he dies...and Gaius. _I'm so sorry, Gaius_. He'll never get the chance to thank Arthur for saving him or make anymore wisecracks at the prince's expense. He never got to kiss Morgana one final time...

A voice behind him startles him with its familiarity. "Merlin?" comes a whisper.

"Gwen?!" Merlin asks, head jerking at the warm, friendly voice.

"Ssh," she cautions hastily. "I'm right behind you. I'm the executioner...I mean, not the executioner, I'm here instead of the executioner, but, oh, you know what I mean."

Merlin lifts his head and cannot stop a wide smile spreading over his face. He should have known the three of them wouldn't let him die.

"I'm going to lift the axe. When I drop it, I'll stop it just before it hits you. Then I'll make a distraction and that's when you get out of here," Gwen continues in a whisper. "You trust me, don't you?" she adds anxiously.

Merlin doesn't feel a response to the last part is necessary. _He's not going to die. He's not going to die_. Merlin lifts his head straight up and looks directly at Uther. For a moment, it seems that the two of them, the king and the criminal, are the only two people in the whole square. Merlin's words cut cleanly through the crisp air, freezing the slow, lazy warmth with quicksilver.

"My lord," he says, "I hope for your sake, that one day you will learn to stop hating." Then he drops his head to the block, heart shuddering and thumping in his chest.

Gwen lifts the axe. And lets it fall. And once more, Merlin runs.

Through the crowds which part in alarm, his feet punishing the flagstones, his only thought to get out, get away. _One more chance at life_. There is no breath left in his body as reaches the end of the square amid screams and Uther's yelling, but it doesn't matter: he is running on pure adrenaline.

Then Merlin sees something that makes him skid to a stop and turn around. A tall man with brown hair tied back in a neat ponytail is standing very still at the back of the jostling crowds, and it's the stillness that catches Merlin's attention. The man is lifting something...a crossbow. Lifting a crossbow with an arrow in its tip and pointing it directly at Uther Pendragon.

Merlin sees Gwen's exasperated, bewildered face above her black mask because he's no longer running, heart jittering and beginning to slow. Merlin wants to let this happen; so what if Uther dies? He would have killed Merlin, he traded Morgana's life for an alliance with another Kingdom. But thinking of Morgana makes Merlin remember her words from days earlier: that whatever Uther had done, he didn't deserve to die. Merlin's loyalties, too, lie with Camelot. Not Essetir. He will not let this city fall; he can be brave, just like Morgana was.

Merlin looks upwards, searching for Morgana's face in the window and finding it. Stricken and glorious, hair tumbled out over shoulders, green eyes on fire.

And everything clarifies.

Merlin finds himself back inside his body, mind clear and precise as he reaches for the correct spell. " _Sypian asytrung_!" he calls out into the square as his eyes glow gold.

People slow down, bodies halted and lazy. Everything in slow motion. Merlin does not have time for another glance at Morgana, because Cenred's man in the crowd presses a heavy finger against the trigger. The arrow looses itself, shimmering in the air as it begins to spin towards the king. Merlin knows his spell will wear off soon, so he does the only thing he has time for. Returning to the stage at a run, Merlin looks desperately out over the gentle movement that will soon become frantic.

He steps in front of the arrow, and watches as the whole world turns into darkness.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

"Wake up. Come on, Merlin, wake up," Morgana's passionate, lilting voice is the first thing Merlin hears before he opens his eyes. He opens his wide blue orbs with effort and sees the blurred form of Morgana clutch a hand to her mouth.

"Thank the gods," she breathes and Merlin watches as she clarifies. He blinks.

"Did I die and go to heaven?" he asks weakly. His chest burns with an indescribable ache and his throat feels dry and parched.

Morgana smirks. "Yeah, and I was so distraught I decided to join you. You got hit by the arrow Cenred's man, Ulfric, aimed at the king, you silly noble man."

"And you nursed me back to life?" Merlin teases croakily, feeling a quick, overwhelming swell of joy. He's alive. He's alive, and Morgana is here and she loves him, and everything is going to be okay. The sunlight spills over his bed and Morgana lifts a bundled cloth and once more strokes his forehead with cool water that smells of lavender.

"Oh, yes. If it weren't for me you'd be dead," she says deadpan. At the shocked look on Merlin's face, she laughs. "Gaius nursed you back to life. I sat here and looked pretty and sponged your face. You were running a fever for about a day."

Merlin tries to sort through the previous day's events in his mind. "Gwen was the executioner."

"Gwen was brilliant," Morgana smiles with pride, "Although it would have been nice if someone could have told the two of us about the plan beforehand. I thought you were going to die."

"So did I," Merlin lets his head loll against the pillow, lacking the strength to lift it. He smiles contentedly up at Morgana. "Are you alright? After...Cenred, and everything?" he asks her, remembering her haunted, manic face and the body she claimed she wasn't inside.

Morgana shrugs and leans back, enjoying the touch of the sunshine on her neck and shoulders. "I'm fine, thank you. I don't know what happened...it was like I wasn't there at all. Like I was watching, almost. I killed him and...I liked it." She takes a ragged breath and focuses on finishing her sentence. "I had, it was almost a vision, a premonition. That I'd do it again, kill people, and like it just as much. And afterwards, I couldn't get the taste of him off of me. I kept scrubbing my lips, until the cut opened and I bled again. Then I could just taste blood." She looks into his eyes, expecting horror and pity and finding only understanding.

"It sounds very traumatic," says Merlin with sincere sympathy. "I'm glad you're okay."

"Mm. Says the man who stepped in front of an arrow and spent two days at death's door," she replies with a pointed glance at his aching chest. Merlin laughs and they are quiet for a moment, enjoying the peace and the warmth. The world might be turning, but they are still. The still point. The calm at the centre of the chaos. The victory, at the end of the war.

 _The milk is sweet and the cream floats at the top. The honey tastes like heaven. The dark and the light. The chaos and the order. The seer and the sorcerer, held together by lavender water and eternity, in the sunshine that tastes like peace on their tongues._

"Do you still love me?" Morgana asks him hungrily, a flip in her stomach and an anxious smile at the edges of her lips.

"What kind of a question is that? Of course I love you," Merlin tries to sit up, feeling as though he cannot go any longer without kissing her, but Morgana shoves gently at his shoulders.

"Uh uh. You have to lie still or the stitches will come out," she warns him. "And just for the record, I love you too."

"How are things with you and Uther?" Merlin asks her, reaching out a cautious hand and brushing her fingers with his. "After what he did to you, I would understand you being angry with him."

Morgana hesitates. "I think I just wanted my life to get back to normal. I spun him a lovely story about how I thought kissing conveyed impurity and waxed dramatic about how horrible Cenred was and how traumatic his attempted murder of me was. He lapped it up, I'm back to being the king's favourite ward," she sighs, "Of course, it helps that Essetir is far too busy having a civil war over who's next in line to the throne to bother about Camelot." Merlin nods and again they are quiet.

"You know," Merlin breaks the silence contemplatively, "I don't actually have to be sitting up for us to kiss-"

"Like this, you mean?" Morgana interrupts with a smirk and clambers atop the bed, sitting with her legs either side of his hips. She leans forward and her cool fingers hold his shoulders down ever so lightly as she brushes her lips against his. Merlin leans in for more, but she pulls away.

"So," says Morgana, raising her eyebrows, "Exactly when were you planning on telling me that you have magic?" She folds her arms, demanding a response.

"Ah." Merlin looks awkward.

Morgana looks unyielding. "Don't you dare try and deny it. I saw you cast that slow motion spell over the whole square, although luckily I was far enough away that it didn't affect me. You have magic, Merlin, and you didn't tell me."

"I was going to tell you! I was, I just...I was waiting for the right time..." Merlin's sentence drifts away at the look on her face.

"I see. And the right time would have been, when?" she asks.

"I don't know," says Merlin, the most honest answer he can give. Morgana sighs and leans back down, meeting his lips with her own. Her tongue flickers at the entrance to his lips, and he opens his mouth, deepening the long, gentle kiss.

"You're not angry with me?" Merlin asks, confused, as they part once more.

Morgana runs her tongue along her lips experimentally, noting with pleasure that she can no longer taste Cenred. She tastes like herself, herself and Merlin. Even the metallic tang of blood seems to have faded away. "Oh, I am," she informs him. "In fact, I yelled at you for a good two hours. But being the contrary person that you are, you were unconscious for the whole time."

Merlin laughs and Morgana allows an amused smile to tinge the corners of her mouth. "Poor Gaius actually got most of the yelling. We really must do something for him to make up for all the stress and worry of this whole affair. And no, I don't think I'm angry anymore. I'm just glad we're the same, I think. We are the same, aren't we?"

Merlin remembers saying something very similar himself once. "In some ways we are."

They are interrupted in the middle of their next kiss by an awkward scuffling, throat clearing sound in the doorway. They pull away from one another to see Arthur standing there, one hand over his eyes. "I came to see how Merlin was getting on. And to tell both of you that the King's officially pardoned Merlin, considering how he saved his life and all that, but I can see you two weren't exactly waiting for the bloody go ahead," he tells them.

"It's alright. You can look," Morgana smirks. "And thank you for that very welcome piece of news."

Arthur removes his hand from his eyes and sighs. "Is there actually any point in telling you that he's decreed that the two of you are not to see each other, at all?"

"Probably not," admits Morgana, "Although I suppose we could pretend we're listening to him. It'll make him feel better."

"Right. Well, I'll leave you to your-" he waves a hand vaguely, "Whatever it is you were doing. Oh, and Merlin," Arthur stops in the doorway and points a finger at the recumbent servant. "Since you're alive and no longer a wanted criminal, I expect to see you in my chambers tomorrow morning. My armour hasn't been polished for about a week."

"Bright and early," Merlin calls after the departing prince ruefully.

"Bye Arthur!" Morgana adds, laughing. Then she slams the door shut with a magical flick of her fingers and returns to Merlin. She smiles at him, brightly and happily, and he smiles back.

"Come now. Kiss me again, love," Morgana says to Merlin.


End file.
